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AN EIGHTEENTH- 
CENTURY MARQUISE 

A SrUBT OF EMILIE DU CHJ^ELET 
JND HER TIMES 

By FRANK HAMEL 

Author of 
" The Dauphines of France" " Famous French Salons," etc. 



WITH FRONTISPIECE AND 
SIXTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS 



New York 
JAMES POTT & COMPANY 

MCMXI 






■<^ 



PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN 






PREFACE 

THE eighteenth century was an artificial age, and 
none of the famous women of the day was more 
essentially a product of its artificiality than the Marquise 
du Chatelet. Her mind was deeply tinged with the 
philosophical and metaphysical ideas which accompanied 
the approach of the mental unrest preceding the Revolu- 
tion. She was thinker and scientist, precieuse and pedant, 
but none the less a coquette — in short, a woman of 
contradictions. She was so strikingly original, so marked 
in her individuality, that she was worthy to be judged on 
her own merits, and to stand alone in the eyes of posterity, 
yet historians have persisted in regarding her merely as 
a satellite of Voltaire. This she would assuredly have 
resented. She would rather have been well hated than 
treated with indifference, and would have preferred to 
be written of with contempt rather than to be ignored. 
But this she would never have confessed. She desired 
to be loved for herself alone, and when told that certain 
persons refused to do her justice, she replied that if 
this were indeed the case she wished to ignore it. 
Jealousy was at the root of much of the dislike which 
her women friends lavished upon her, and occasionally 
expressed openly. It is significant that, according to 
Sainte-Beuve, the most bitter and most cruelly satirical 

5 



6 Preface 

passages ever written in French appear in her pen- 
portrait by Mme du DefFand. 

It is impossible to judge Mme du Chatelet apart 
from Voltaire, so closely were their lives intertwined, but 
it is quite practicable to discuss her from a broader 
standpoint than that of her influence on his work, and 
to give due consideration to her part in the almost 
masculine friendship which united them. Their liaison 
forms a narrative of love and intellectual companionship, 
of constancy and betrayal, which lasted fifteen years. 
In her infatuation for Saint-Lambert, she was, on the 
other hand, ultra-womanly. It was a wild, emotional 
episode, not often equalled in its improbable and in- 
credible abandon^ and it closed with her death after a 
year and a half. These contrasting passions bring out 
strongly the extreme powers of reason and feeling with 
which she was gifted. Her ardour for the diversions 
of the salons and the courts, for masquerades, excursions, 
theatricals, ■petits soupers, versifying and gambling was 
incidental to her character. Her real tastes were not 
for gaiety, nor yet even for renown. She had two 
absorbing interests — work and love. 

Frank Hamel. 
London, 1910, 



AN EIGHTEENTH- 
CENTURY MARQUISE 



UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME 

The Dauphines of France 

By FRANK HAMEL 
Author of "Famous French Salons," etc. 

OUTLOOK.—" Mr. Hamel has worked with much dis- 
cretion, aided by a light hand, a fascinating manner, and 
an entire absence of pretentiousness. We have not met 
within the same compass so faithful and complete a revela- 
tion of the life of the Royalties and Noblesse. . . . The 
portraits in this entertaining volume are instructive and 
admirably reproduced. The frontispiece is charming 
enough to be removed and framed on its own merits as 
a picture. On the whole, a book suitable for presentation 
by uncles and guardians." 

DAILY TELEGRAPH.— '"'mr. Hamel has the right 
touch, and treats history in a mood of gay vivacity. The 
reader will find the various studies always animated, well 
informed, and excellently phrased. Certainly these stories 
make romantic reading, and Mr. Hamel handles his material 
with dexterity and force. In his glowing pages he seizes 
every opportunity for lively and impressive description." 

BOOKMAN. — " A book which, while remaining of 
manageable size, tells all that is to be told about no less 
than fifteen persons, must have been remarkably difficult 
to write. Mr. Hamel, nevertheless, has accomplished his 
task with real success. His style of writing is spirited 
and enjoyable, his facts are put tersely and vividly, and 
his accuracy is unquestionable. In fact, his manner is as 
fascinating as his matter. . . . The book is one which 
nobody should miss." 

LONDON: STANLEY PAUL & CO., 
I Clifford's Inn, E.C. 



CONTENTS 



CHAPTER I 

PAGE 

PARENTAGE AND YOUTH . . . . * H 



"^CHAPTER II 



AN INTIMATE FRIENDSHIP .... 42 

^^CHAPTER III 
THE MATHEMATICIANS AND THE CAFES . .. 69 

"^CHAPTER IV 
THE SALONS AND A SUPPER PARTY . . . IO5 



\:. 



;hapter V 

A PARADISE ON EARTH ..... I32 

CHAPTER VI 

MME DE GRAFFIGNY AT CIREY .... 167 

7 



8 Contents 



CHAPTER VII 

PAGE 

A LIBEL AND A LAWSUIT ..... I97 



CHAPTER VIII 
SCEAUX AND ANET 



245 



CHAPTER IX 
THE COURT OF LUNEVILLE ..... 29I 

CHAPTER X 
LOVE AND SAINT-LAMBERT ..... 329 

INDEX 375 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

THE MARQUISE DU CHATELET FrOtlttSptece 

After Nattier. 

PAGB 

THE DUG DE RICHELIEU 3I 

VOLTAIRE AS A YOUNG MAN 39 

After a painting by Largilliire. 

MOREAU DE MAUPERTUIS . 75 

Engraved from a painting by Tourniires. 

MADAME DACIER 93 

HOUDART DE LAMOTTE ......... 97 

MADAME DU DEFFAND . 121 

FRANCESCO ALGAROTTI 139 

After a pastel by Listard. 

VOLTAIRE'S " DIVINE EMILIE " I7I 

After the painting by Marianne Loir. 

MADAME DE GRAFFIGNY ......... 183 

VOLTAIRE 221 

After an engraving by Alix. 

EMILIE GABRIELLE DU CHATELET 239 v^ 

From an old engraving. 

THE DUCHESSE DU MAINE 249 

MADAME DE STAAL 273 

STANISLAS LECZINSKI, KING OF POLAND 3OI 

THE MARQUISE DE BOUFFLERS . . . . . . • '3^^ 

THE MARQUIS DE SAINT-LAMBERT 331 

9 



CHIEF AUTHORITIES CONSULTED 

Algarotti : Works. 

Barbier : Journal. 

Beaumelle, Angliviel de la : Vie de Maupertuis. 

Beauvau : Souvenirs de la Marechale Princesse de Beauvau. 

BoYE, Pierre : La Cour de Luneviile en 1748 et 1749. 

CoLLE : Journal. 

CoLOMBEY, E. : Ruelles, Salons et Cabarets. 

Crequy, Madame de : Souvenirs. 

Desnoiresterres : Voltaire et la Societe au dix-huitieme Siecle. 

Du ChAtelet, Emilie : Works and Letters. 

Du Deffand, Madame : Letters. 

Faur : Vie privee du Richelieu. 

GoNCOURT, De : La Femme au XVIII^ Siecle. 

„ „ L' Amour au XVIII^ Siecle. 

Graffigny, Madame de : Letters. 
Renault, President : Memoires. 
LoNGCHAMP : Memoires. 
LuYNES, Due DE : Journal. 

Marie, M. : Histoire des Sciences Mathematiques. 
Marmontel : Memoires. 

Maugras, Gaston : La Cour de Luneviile au XVIII^ Siecle. 
Orleans, Elisabeth Charlotte de : Letters. 
Sainte-Beuve : Causeries du Lundi. 
Saint-Lambert : Works, etc. 
Saint-Simon : Memoires. 
Staal, Madame de : Memoires. 
Voisenon : Works. 
Voltaire : Works and Letters. 

Etc., Etc. 



AN EIGHTEENTH- 
CENTURY MARQUISE 

CHAPTER I 

PARENTAGE AND YOUTH 

" \ X /"HAT admirable and unique people you both 
* '^ are ! " wrote Frederick the Great to Mme du 
Chatelet and Voltaire ; ** the wonder of all who know you 
increases day by day." And judging from the complex 
natures of the lively marquise and her friend the 
philosopher, he might have filled a volume with their 
characteristics without coming very much nearer to the 
truth. 

A study of circumstances and a knowledge of the 
extremes which made them distinctive are essential to 
unlock this problem of character. The first quarter of 
the eighteenth century in France was dull, decaying, and 
stagnant ; the second brought forth a burst of impetuous 
licence ; in the third, licence having become systematic, 
produced a reaction in favour of a new philosophy 
which aimed at amelioration of the social order ; and in 
the fourth quarter this was superseded by activity of the 
most drastic kind, so explosive in its course that decay, 
licence, philosophy, and all the known conditions dis- 
appeared before it, and a new day was ushered in. The 
first half of the century alone concerns Mme du 



ji 



12 An Eighteenth-Century Marquise 

Chatelet, the Revolution and the period of immediate 
preparation which filled the latter half being an inevitable 
and terrible conclusion. The period of her lifetime was 
equally important psychologically, and more subtle than 
that which succeeded it. Profligacy rioted side by side 
with culture, the pursuit of science did not interfere with 
the indulgence of personal greed, individual opinion was 
awake amidst a sloth of oppression and corruption, and 
this spirit of contradiction resulted in mental and moral 
unrest, which is reflected in the character of the divine 
Emilie. She embodied in herself the definite intellectual 
aims which were springing up in the midst of social 
instabilities. Her personal idiosyncrasies were the out- 
come of hereditary tendencies battling with new and 
untried conditions. 

Born in 1706, she had reached the most impressionable 
age when the fresh ideas and livelier manners of the 
Regency began to make themselves felt. She was not 
slow to imbibe them, and her position was one in which 
she had every opportunity to do so efi^ectively. She was 
the daughter of the Baron de Breteuil, a frequenter 
of Courts, and an odd character who belonged to the 
later period of Louis Quatorze, and was inflated to an 
almost ridiculous degree with the pomposity of etiquette 
and ceremonial, in the atmosphere of which he had 
spent many years of his life. The Le Tonnelier de 
Breteuil family was an old one, and had numerous 
branches. Many of its members held appointments as 
magistrates, controllers of finance, and in the Church 
and the army. The family had settled in Paris in the 
middle of the sixteenth century, and one of its most 
celebrated scions was Emilie' s grandfather, Louis le 
Tonnelier de Breteuil, Seigneur de Boissette, Mons and 



Parentage and Youth 13 

Raville, who held a number of public posts, the more 
important being those of Controller-General of Finances 
and Councillor of State. His wife, Chretienne Le Court, 
presented him with a large family of sons, of whom Louis- 
Nicolas, Baron de Preuilly, was the seventh and youngest. 
Born on September 14, 1648, at Montpellier, while his 
father was Intendant of Languedoc, he was early destined 
for a career at court, and soon won for himself a reputa- 
tion as a gallant man about town. His first love-affair 
was with one of the queen's femmes de chamhre^ a certain 
Mile de Perigny, who was not satisfied with a single 
string to her bow, and flirted with the Marquis d'Estrades 
and the Comte de Marsin at the same time as the Baron 
de Breteuil. One day the second called on her, to find 
the first and third already present. To his surprise she 
was dressed all in black and wore anything but a cheerful 
air. When the other two had taken their departure, the 
Comte de Marsin begged her to tell him why she had 
gone into mourning. Without a moment's hesitation 
she laughingly explained the position in verse : 

••Je prends mon habit de deuil 
Et suis malade 
Quand je vois entrer Breteuil 
Avec Estrades." 

A far more romantic episode was that of Louis-Nicolas 
with the fascinating Anne Bellinzani, who fell madly in 
love with him when she met him at a ball in 1 67 1 . She 
wrote a passionate story of this affair under the title of 
the " Histoire des Amours de Cleante et de Belise," and 
described him at the age of twenty-one as possessing a 
charm of manner and appearance with which in later 
years he was never credited. Her parents and relatives 
regarded her attitude with stern disapproval, but she 



14 An Eighteenth-Century Marquise 

ignored their prejudices until by chance she discovered 
that her lover was secretly married to another. Then she 
entered a convent, to emerge five years later on the eve 
of a forced marriage with President Ferrand. For some 
time afterwards she hoped to renew the early romance, 
and kept up a correspondence with Louis-Nicolas, but 
his heart had long since ceased to respond to her calls 
upon it. In 1675 his wife, Marie Anne le F^vre de 
Caumartin, who was also a distant cousin, bore him a 
daughter, and retired to a convent, where she died four 
years later. On her death-bed, the marriage, which for 
some mysterious reason had been kept secret, was 
acknowledged, and he claimed the little girl as his 
legitimate child. Anne-Louise, as she was called, died 
at the age of twenty-two, and was buried in the family 
sepulchre. 

In 1677 Louis-Nicolas obtained the post of Reader to 
the King, and after holding this for some time he sold 
it and was sent in January 1688 as envoy extraordinary 
to the Princes of Italy. In 1699 he contracted a second 
marriage, and this wooing contained a flavour of mystery, 
like the first. He had been paying court for some time 
to the wife of his uncle, Claude le Tonnelier de Breteuil, 
who before her marriage had been a Mile de Froulay. 
She invited her sister to come and stay with her, and the 
Baron de Breteuil soon found that his affections were 
newly engaged, and that he was obliged to play a double 
game. His aunt only discovered the truth when he 
announced his approaching marriage with her sister. The 
children of the marriage were Rene- Alexandre, born 
April 7, 1698 ; Charles-Auguste, Elisabeth-Theodore, 
and Emilie-Gabrielle, December 17,1 706. 

Emilie's maternal grandmother was Angelique de 



Parentage and Youth 15 

Beaudean, a fille d'honneur to Queen Marie-Therese. 
She was married in 1656 to the Comte de Froulay, 
Grand-Markhal des Logis. The latter's functions con- 
sisted in making the arrangements for the housing of 
the king, the officers, and the court, in the various 
palaces and when travelling. Ang61ique was the sister 
of Mme de Navailles and daughter to that Mme de 
Neuillant who was responsible for the training of 
Fran9oise d'Aubigne, better known as Mme de 
Maintenon. 

Two years after his second marriage the Baron de 
Breteuil was appointed Introducer of Ambassadors at 
the French Court in the place of Bonneuil, who had 
died recently and to whose widow he had to pay 40,000 
crowns. The post was worth more than twice that sum, 
and carried with it certain prerogatives and privileges 
which were by no means to be despised. His main 
duties were to conduct to the king, to the queen, and 
to all the princes and princesses of the blood, the kings, 
sovereign princes and princesses, legates, cardinals, 
ambassadors, envoys, and other dignitaries coming from 
foreign countries. Moreover he had to introduce to the 
queen and all the princesses of the blood, the female 
relatives that these foreigners brought with them. No 
wonder that our friend the Baron had to be a good 
courtier ! In such a post, tact, amiability and gallantry 
were absolute essentials. He knew how to make himself 
liked, and was a favourite with the young Due de 
Bourgogne, who chose him to carry the candle on the 
night his marriage was consummated, this privilege of 
carrying the candle being much sought after by courtiers. 
The Baron revelled in the " world of small things " that* 
devolved upon him incidentally in the course of his 



1 6 An Eighteenth-Century Marquise 

duties. He left voluminous memoirs, which form a 
remarkable record of ceremonial at court, from events 
of real historical and political significance down to the 
smallest tittle-tattle, concerning the Duchess of So-and-so's 
breach of etiquette, the contempt of the Marquise some- 
body-else for a present bestowed upon her by the King, 
what happened at the wedding of some unimportant 
nobility, and what was the consequence of a moment's 
forgetfulness on the part of some dignitary who ought to 
have known better. La Bruy^re and Saint-Simon bore 
witness to the Baron's less noble qualities, and even to 
the petty spirit he occasionally showed. His daughter, 
who was never petty, was not exempt from occasional 
ignoble traits, in spite of her breadth of view and 
intellectual superiority, and there are some sides of her 
character which were not unlike her father's. 

Under the thin disguise of Celsus, La Bruyere described 
the Baron de Breteuil none too kindly. " Celsus is of 
mean condition," he wrote, " yet those of the best quality 
entertain him. He has no learning, but he has relations 
with the learned. He has little merit himself, yet he is 
acquainted with those who have a great deal. He has 
no abilities, but he has a tongue that serves to make him 
understood and feet to carry him from one place to 
another. He is a man born to run to and fro on errands, 
to listen to propositions and report them, to make him- 
self appear important, to overdo his commission and be 
relieved of it, to reconcile people who quarrel at their 
first interview, to succeed in one affair and fail in a 
thousand, to attribute to himself all the honour of success 
and to cast the blame of failure on others. He knows 
all the news and gossip of the town. He does nothing 
himself, but tells and repeats what others are doing. He 



Parentage and Youth 



17 



IS a newsmonger. He even knows family secrets, and 
he IS concerned in the most intimate mysteries. He will 
tell you why such an one went into exile, and why 
another was recalled." 

Saint-Simon's account was that the Baron was not 
at all wantmg in intellect-which is far more likely to 
be the truth-but that he allowed his predilection for the 
Court, mmisters, men of office and of fashion to carry 
him away ; that indeed it amounted to a mania, and that 
he was not above using his influence for pecuniary con- 
siderations by promising his protection to those in search 
of appointments-wherein he did not differ from his 
feJows, for at that time office-finding was a lucrative 
pursuit. He blamed him also for tuft-hunting, accused 
him of being a bore, a boaster, and a chatterbox, as well 
as a butt for ridicule and chaff generally. To substantiate 
his first accusation he quotes the case of the Pontchartrains 
mto whose society he had forced himself through the 
influence of Caumartin, who was distantly related to his 
first wife. In this connection he tells a story about him 
similar to one which was told by La Bruy^re of Le 
Notre the famous gardener. One day when the Baron 
was dining at M. de Pontchartrain's house amon^ a 
number of guests, he began to speak rather bumptiously. 
Mme de Pontchartrain, who was perhaps a little 
annoyed, wished to take him down a peg or two She 
said to him that, though he appeared to know every- 
thing, she felt sure he did not know who composed the 
Paternoster. Thereupon Breteuil began to laugh and 
joke His hostess pressed the point, and always returned 
to the same subject. He defended himself as well as he 
could, and then rose from table and left the room. Cau- 
martin, who was aware of his embarrassment, followed 



2 



1 8 An Eighteenth-Century Marquise 

him, and whispered " Moses." The Baron, who had 
grown a little confused, thought this was all right, and 
when coffee was served he brought up the subject of the 
Pater again triumphantly. This time Mme de Pontchar- 
train had no difficulty in getting her way, and Breteuil, 
after reproaching her a number of times for the doubt she 
showed in him and the shame he felt at being obhged 
to answer a question so trivial, said that every one knew 
Moses was the author of the Pater. There was a loud 
burst of laughter. The poor Baron, utterly confounded, 
did not know where to hide his diminished head. Every 
one repeated his remark until it was worn threadbare. 
He quarrelled with Caumartin, and the Pater was held up 
against him for a long while. 

Concerning the early years of Emilie^s life, spent under 
the guardianship of such a father, there is very little 
reliable information. 

There is a garbled account in the Souvenirs of Mme 
de Crequy, but it is difficult to sift truth from fiction, 
and the authorship of these memoirs is uncertain. The 
Marquise de Crequy was a Mile de Froulay and first 
cousin to Emilie, so her evidence, had she given any, 
would have been invaluable. As it is, the contemporary 
anecdotes which exist in her supposed Souvenirs form an 
inaccurate but possible picture of the reality. Mile de 
Froulay, so the story runs, was taken by her father to 
the Hotel de Breteuil, close to the gardens of the Tuileries, 
where Emilie lived. She described the house as very 
beautiful and herself as overjoyed to go and live there. 
There were eight or nine rooms on each floor of the 
house, and all were decorated and gilded with great 
luxury. The Marquise de Breteuil-Sainte-Croix occupied 
the ground-floor, two or three of the rooms being reserved 



Parentage and Youth 19 

for her mother, the Marechale de Thomond. These two 
had fine apartments in the chateau of Saint-Germain, and 
they regarded those in the Hotel de Breteuil as a mere 
pied-a-terre in Paris. Mme de Breteuil-Preuilly, Mile 
de Froulay's aunt, lived in the first story with her hus- 
band. His library overflowed into three rooms. The 
second story belonged to the Dowager Countess de 
Breteuil-Charmeaux, another aunt, the eldest sister of 
the Baronne, who refused to share her apartments with 
any one. The third floor was occupied by the Com- 
mandant de Breteuil, who frequently had the Bishop of 
Rennes to stay with him. The Baronne's four children 
occupied the fourth floor, and Mile de Froulay's cousin 
Emilie had to give up her room to the new arrival. It 
overlooked the Tuileries Gardens. She was moved into 
three little rooms looking out on to a blind alley, and for 
this, said Mile de Froulay, " she never forgave me." 

Mile de Froulay was thus transplanted into the very 
bosom of the Breteuil family, and felt as though she were 
in a thicket of thorns, so carefully had she been instructed 
that etiquette and rank were the gods of the household. 
She never dared to mention commoners without looking 
round, as one would naturally do if speaking of hump- 
backs or people with red hair, to be sure there were none 
present. 

M. de Breteuil was an old limb of the law, said his 
niece none too respectfully, and his chief topic of con- 
versation was his father, the Controller-General, whose 
name he never mentioned without the title Monseigneur. 
His own titles made quite a recitation, and he repeated 
them on every possible occasion. He was Baron de 
Breteuil and de Preuilly, Premier Baron de Touraine 
and Secretary to the King, Minister Plenipotentiary and 



20 An Eighteenth-Century Marquise 

Reader to His Majesty, besides Councillor and Introducer 
of Ambassadors. His wife, Gabrielle-Anne de Froulay, 
was renowned for her beauty. Her face was amongst 
those that strike the eye of the beholder, that once seen 
are never forgotten, and of a type that no one expects 
to see twice in a lifetime. Her complexion was of a 
marvellous freshness. She had fair, rather colourless hair, 
dark eyebrows, grey eyes, piercing like an eagle's, a sweet 
and lively, but above all imposing air. She was naturally 
serious, and if she smiled it was in a condescending 
manner, or tenderly when she looked at her children, who 
were all very charming except, according to the supposed 
Mile de Froulay's account, the awkward Emilie. About 
her she had not a good word to say. 

Emilie was a giantess in height and broad in pro- 
portion. She had marvellous strength and was quite 
exceptionally clumsy. She had huge feet and appalling 
hands. Her skin was as rough as a nutmeg grater, 
and altogether she was as ugly as a grenadier guard. 
Having deprived her of even a shred of presentable 
appearance, the prejudiced memoir-writer proceeded to 
deprive her of the slightest intellectual capacity. She 
was dull, muddled, and preoccupied, whilst her pedantry 
made her insupportable ; she gained all that she knew 
of astronomy from the crumbs of knowledge which fell 
from her mother's lips. And this was the woman of 
whom Voltaire spoke as a beauty and a savante in after- 
years. How could he reconcile it to his conscience? 
" Ah, Madame," was the poet's reply when the leading 
question was put to him, *' she would have trampled 
on me if I had not done so, and in the end she might 
have strangled me. You know little about her if you 
do not know that." " Well, Monsieur de Voltaire, that 



Parentage and Youth 21 

may be so," was the reply, " but all I am willing to 
admit about Mme du Chatelet is that she was cleverer 
than you." 

The children were taught their manners very care- 
fully by their mother, who made them read books of 
advice as to the best way of eating boiled eggs, of 
serving glasses of liqueur, and of breaking their bread 
carefully at table. They were taught to avoid the 
habits of the middle classes as they would the pestilence. 
The household was carried on in the most lavish manner, 
and though there were but few members, the servants 
numbered as many as forty-four. Fontenelle, Dangeau, 
and Saint- Simon were said to be frequent visitors at 
the house. 

This account of the Breteuil family may or may not 
represent the actuality of Emilie's early surroundings, 
but there is at least no reason to doubt that her 
upbringing was in most particulars similar to that of 
other girls of her class, with the exception perhaps 
that her tastes led her to profit by the classical education 
her father provided for her, and that from the first she 
was encouraged to indulge in original thought. 

The birth of a daughter at this period was almost 
invariably a disappointment to the parents. A girl 
could add nothing to the family glory, nay, her dowry 
would before long deplete its coffers. She could not 
transmit her father's name nor win fresh glories on the 
battlefield or in diplomatic circles. Her arrival left her 
father indifferent and her mother a little regretful. The 
absence of the infant at nurse softened the disappoint- 
ment, and by the time she returned to be placed in 
charge of a governess, she was welcomed in a kindly 
manner, as a pretty little doll to be dressed up and 



22 An Eighteenth-Century Marquise 

regarded as a plaything. Her home was a forcing- 
house of artificiality. Her youth was but a foretaste 
of her later years. She aped her grown-up sister in 
her habits, her manners and her dress. A little girl 
of the eighteenth century had her hair done high and 
padded, crowned with feathers, or a ribbon-laden bonnet 
trimmed with flowers. She wore an embroidered muslin 
overdress, covering a wide-spreading blue or pink silk 
underskirt. She loved gewgaws, and adorned herself 
with ornaments of gold and silver, coral and pearl. 
Her playthings, consisting especially of dolls, were as 
much bedizened as herself, possessed hard red cheeks 
and gaudy clothes, and were so large as to be incon- 
venient to carry. Yet no good eighteenth-century 
mother of dolls would have dreamt of walking out in 
the park with her governess unaccompanied by her 
waxen baby. As for the little Emilie-Gabrielle, her 
love of fine clothes and gewgaws was deep-seated from 
the first, and grew with her growth, but if she ever 
played with dolls, it was surely to bang their heads on 
the floor when she was angry, and then, remorseful 
because she thought them pained, to hug and caress 
them with all the force of her passionate nature. 

As regards education, it has already been said that 
Emilie was far better equipped in useful knowledge 
than others of her class. "Her father, the Baron de 
Breteuil, had taught her Latin," wrote Voltaire in his 
Memoirs, " which she understood as perfectly as Mme 
Dacier. She knew by rote the most beautiful passages 
in * Horace,' ' Virgil,' and * Lucretius,' and all the 
philosophical works of Cicero were familiar to her. Her 
inclinations were more strongly bent towards mathe- 
matics and metaphysics than any other studies. Seldom 



Parentage and Youth 23 

has there been united in the same person so much 
justness of discernment and elegance of taste with so 
ardent a desire for information." He also declared that 
in her earliest youth she had read good authors in 
various languages, that he himself had seen several 
portions of a translation of the ^neid, which showed 
a wonderful knowledge of the meaning of the original ; 
that, having studied Itahan and Enghsh, Tasso and 
Milton became as familiar to her as Virgil ; and that 
she made some progress in Spanish. She was also an 
accomplished musician. 

In having had this classical groundwork Emilie was 
indeed fortunate. The ordinary governess was usually 
concerned in making her pupil acquainted with showy 
and gUttering accomplishments rather than with solid 
learning, and with a superficial veneer of manners, 
etiquette, and pretty behaviour, than with rules for 
upright conduct and straightforward honesty. Emilie 
profited but little by the inevitable lessons in deportment, 
the turning out of toes, the elaborate curtsy, or the 
dignity to be attained from a head well-balanced on 
her shoulders. She was awkward to the last day of her 
life, but her delight in romping and her natural vivacity 
as a child were probably not nearly as well curbed as in 
the case of the ordinary pert misses. 

A child at that time was taken to stiff bah (Tenfants, 
driving there in her carriage, gorgeously attired, her 
hair decked with feathers, her person with jewellery, 
a coquettish bouquet fixed on the left shoulder, scented, 
powdered, rouged, and artificial to her finger-tips. Her 
relations with her mother were probably limited to a 
visit once a day for a few minutes to the semi-lighted, 
rose-tinted room where the latter lay resting after her 



24 An Eighteenth-Century Marquise 

fatigues of the previous evening, receiving casual privi- 
leged visitors of either sex. The little daughter was 
encouraged to caress her mother's outstretched hand, 
delicate and white and glittering with rings, to say 
*' How are you, chere Maman ? " to obey the answer, 
"Kiss me, ma petite, and then run away and enjoy 
yourself as much as you can," with an added remark, 
addressed sotto voce to the visitor, « Isn't she a darling ? 
I can hardly bear my lovely child out of my sight." 

Apart from its purely devotional aspect, the convent 
was an institution of considerable influence in the life ot 
a woman in the eighteenth century. Should there be 
no dot forthcoming because the sons of the house needed 
all the money, there was the refuge ; it served too as 
an asylum or a prison in the case of injudicious love- 
affairs or unfortunate marriages ; it was a sanctuary for 
those who repented of a wild youth, or whose beauty 
had been utterly disfigured by the prevalent scourge of 
smallpox. Marriage or a convent : there was no other 
alternative for a girl of good family at that period. She 
was sent there for educational purposes, and perhaps because 
the mother did not wish for the presence of a growing 
girl, blossoming into fresh beauty which might contrast 
with her own jaded charms to their disadvantage and thus 
dim the lustre of her popularity. Probably she was brought 
out again at the age of seventeen or eighteen, to take 
up the worldly life and contract a marriage of convenience 
Marriage at that time was another term for emancipation • ' 
It presented itself as a period of bustle, of a sudden 
accession of importance, of the sensation of being grown- 
up, of endless interviews with dressmakers, milliners and 
jewellers, of family conclaves and receptions of friends 
at which there was usually present a certain man who 



Parentage and Youth 25 

was to be looked at from afar and with an accompaniment 
of becoming blushes, and who somehow was a necessary 
though not the most interesting part of the affair. He 
represented rank, luxury, enjoyment, coquetry, the opera, 
a display of jewels, and all the delights of freedom till 
then denied her. 

Marriage was regarded by the French girl of the 
eighteenth century as the starting-point in the race of 
life, and Mile de Breteuil took the same point of view 
as all the others. She had reached the age of nineteen 
when, on June 12, 1725, she contracted a marriage of 
convenience with the Marquis Florent-Claude du Chatelet- 
Lomont. Her husband belonged to an old Lorraine 
family, originally wealthy, but much reduced in fortune. 
Born at Namur, in 1695, the eldest son of Florent du 
Chatelet, Comte de Lomont, Seigneur de Cirey, he was 
ten years older than his wife. They had no mutual 
interests. He was heavy, and of the earth earthy ; she 
was brilliant and full of the intention to live her life to 
the uttermost. They very soon agreed to go separate 
ways. He was a soldier, having joined the king's 
musketeers in 17 12, served through the campaigns of 
Landau, of Freiburg, and assisted at the siege of Phillips- 
burg. His successful military career was rewarded, and 
he was appointed field-marshal in 1738 and lieutenant- 
general in 1744. His profession was the cause of many 
separations between husband and wife, but their lack 
of mutual understanding made this no hardship. There 
were three children of the marriage : Gabrielle-Pauline, 
born at Paris on June 30, 1726, Florent-Louis-Marie, 
born November 20, 1727, and Victor-Esprit, born at 
Paris in 1734, who died in infancy. Mme du Chatelet 
took the same kind of interest in her children as she 



26 An Eighteenth-Century Marquise 

had taken in her dolls. She did not realise the part they 
were intended to play in the scheme of life. But she 
was always tolerant of them, and loved them now and 
again in her tempestuous manner, especially when she 
found them useful. Her husband had grown tired of 
her before the birth of her youngest son, for she had not 
the art of keeping a man's affections except through her 
intellectual gifts, which in no way appealed to the Marquis, 
and she had already turned for variety to the mathematical 
and philosophical studies which became her life-interest. 
Neither these nor the children prevented her from 
following the example set by the society women of her 
class. Their habits were extravagant, luxurious, and free, 
and included all kinds of frivolity, frailty and intrigue. 

Mme du Chatelet participated in the custom of the 
day, and soon found among her numerous men-friends 
one in whom she could take more than a platonic 
interest. But she never went to extremes, like many a 
languishing beauty, and she lived neither an idle nor 
dissolute life. She was deterred from that by circum- 
stances and tastes. She was not rich enough, and she 
loved intellectual pursuits ; these things were her safe- 
guard. But she enjoyed herself as much as any one — 
probably more than most, for she entered into gaiety 
with the robust spirit of play which is generally associated 
with the idea of childhood. And this happy side of her 
nature helped her to escape from the failings of her more 
light-minded companions, with their airs of artificiality and 
sensuousness which have been justly condemned. 

" Voluptuousness clothes her," wrote De Goncourt of 
the Frenchwoman of the eighteenth century, "placing on 
her feet slippers to aid her in her mincing steps, and 
sprinkling in her hair a powder which shows fQrth, a§ 



Parentage and Youth 27 

through a mist, the features of her face, the sparkling 
eyes, the flashing smile. It lights up her cheeks with 
the delicate colour of the rose, enhancing the beauty of 
her complexion. It shrouds her arms in lace ; it peeps 
above her dress, subtly suggesting her entire form ; it 
leaves her neck bare, not only in the drawing-room in 
the evening, but even when out walking in the street, 
where she is to be seen day by day, and at all hours 
provokingly decolletee^ permitting a seductive vision of 
fair white skin and delicate outline, that, to eyes jaded by 
town-life, are a reminder of fragrant flowers and shafts of 
sunlight." Besides, it was the day of patches, which had 
a bewitching meaning all their own. One in the corner 
of her eye signified la Passionnee^ in the middle of her 
cheek la Galante^ on the nose VEffrontee^ near the lips la 
Coquette. 

The setting was usually worthy of the jewel. Her 
boudoir was extravagantly furnished, the silk that clothed 
her of the finest, mirrors reflected her beauty from every 
point of view, pictures adorned her walls illustrating the 
romantic side of life, with imaginary shepherds making 
love in flowery arbours to fair shepherdesses ; her books 
described in glowing language the glamour of passion, 
her music was thrilling melody. Mme du Chatelet was 
too sensible to attribute to this exotic atmosphere a value 
it did not possess ; on the other hand, however, she did 
not scorn it as an aid to making life pleasurable. One 
thing was lacking in her : she was not beautiful. She 
had fine eyes, a bright smile, and a striking presence, but 
the softer feminine graces were not hers. 

Yet this want of personal advantages did not keep 
lovers at a distance, although it was a factor in preventing 
them from devoting a lifetime to her alone. It must be 



28 An Eighteenth-Century Marquise 

recollected that the conventionalities of the day were 
concerned with appearances rather than with facts, and 
that the question " Is she discreet ? " was more frequently- 
asked than " Has she a lover ? " In her first affair 
Mme du Chatelet was careful to comply with the rules 
of society until her lover, the Marquis de Guebriant, 
grew weary of her. Then she broke them all, and won a 
temporary notoriety by attempting to take her own life. 
There is little to tell of the Marquis de Guebriant, who 
was a nephew of the Marechal de Maillebois, except that 
he was of a practical turn of mind and did not approve 
of hysterics and heroics. " The real character of Mme 
du Chatelet," wrote the Abbe Raynal, describing the 
manner in which she took her sentence of dismissal, " was 
to be extreme in all things. One single trait will paint 
her." That was a bold statement on the Abbe's part, 
which does not bear endorsement. " In despair at seeing 
herself deserted by her lover, who had formed a new 
attachment," he continued, " she begged the unfaithful 
one to come and see her. After a conversation which 
was carried on without constraint on either side, Mme 
du Chatelet asked M. de Guebriant to give her some 
soup which was on the table, and having taken it, she 
dismissed him, giving him a letter at the same time. As 
soon as the Marquis had reached the bottom of the stairs 
he read the letter, which was to the effect that Mme du 
Chatelet said she was about to die poisoned by her own 
hand. The Marquis did not waste time in vain lamenta- 
tion. With wonderful presence of mind, he went to seek 
an antidote in the nearest place, and made his mistress 
swallow it. The effect of this remedy was so efficacious 
that nothing remained but the remembrance of her extra- 
ordinary act." 



Parentage and Youth 29 

The account of this rash deed as given by Maurepas 
varies a little. Nothing is said about an interview 
between the lovers. On receiving a letter from Mme 
du Chatelet full " of eternal farewells," Guebriant, know- 
ing her to be subject to fits of great excitement, hastened 
to her house, where he was refused admittance. He forced 
his way in, however, and rushed to her apartment, where 
he found her stretched upon a couch suffering from the 
effects of a dose of opium sufficient to kill her. He took 
measures to have her restored, *' but being unable to 
renew his attachment in spite of this proof of love," 
concluded Maurepas, " she consoled herself with several 
others." 

That phrase lends itself to misconstruction. Until 
her liaison with Voltaire, Mme du Chatelet's name was 
only coupled with that of one other man, a distant kins- 
man of her own, the irresistible and notorious Richelieu. 
Love between them was but a short-lived episode, friend- 
ship lasted her lifetime, and with Voltaire as a third 
became a triangular bond full of good-will and affection. 
Mme du Chatelet's letters to Richelieu are amongst the 
most intimate that she ever wrote, and contain much 
self-revelation. They are calmer, more level-headed and 
womanly than the excited and turbulent phrases she 
penned to d'Argental in the days when she thought her 
happiness with Voltaire was at stake. Richelieu did not 
approve of weeping and scenes, and she respected his 
tastes in this respect and restrained her feelings. 

Louis-Frangois Armand Duplessis, Due de Richelieu, 
established his reputation as a rake long before Mme 
du Chatelet was grown up. He was ten years older than 
she was, and his sister had married into her husband's 
family. D'Argenson called him an amateur of interesting 



30 An Eighteenth-Century Marquise 

trifles, a butterfly. He was a slave to fashion, and 
though gifted with personal merit, he based his hopes on 
blind favour, on seduction, charm and graces, rather than 
upon more solid qualities. 

" Ever since he was twelve years of age he has made 
himself talked of in the world," wrote d'Argenson. 
"His love of voluptuous pleasures has more of ostentation 
in it than of real delight ; he is a prodigal without 
magnificence or generosity ; he is saving, but without 
prudence ; in his domestic aff'airs he shows both skilful 
management and disorder. Such is the practical side of 
a French Alcibiades — they call him thus. . . . He has 
been much the fashion among women. The pretensions 
and jealousies of coquettes have procured him a quantity 
of bonnes fortunes — never a passion, but much debauchery ; 
he has deceived a weak sex ; he has taken senses for 
heart ; he is not fortunate enough to possess a friend ; 
he is .frank through heedlessness, distrustful through 
contempt of mankind and shrewdness, disobliging from 
insensibility and misanthropy. Such is the sad character 
of a nation gay and volatile as ours ; the more superiority 
there is, the more contrasts there are in qualities which 
destroy each other." 

De Goncourt is still more severe on a society which 
welcomed a man of this stamp in its midst. " If he 
bear the name of Richelieu his career throughout the 
century will be as triumphant as that of a god. He 
will be woman's idolised lord, and at sight of him 
modesty will have nothing but tears to show for itself! 
She will positively invite scandal if only it will be on 
his account ; she will intrigue, simply for the glory of 
being submitted to exposure through him ; there will 
be honour in the shame which he bequeaths. The 




THE DUG DE RICHELIEU 

I,over and friend of ]Mme du Chatelet 



31 



Parentage and Youth 33 

coquette and the prude, the duchess and the princess — 
all alike will yield to him. The youth and beauty of 
the Court of the Regent and of Louis XV will go 
out to meet him like women of the streets. Women 
will fight for him for passion's sake, like men who fight 
in anger ; and it will be on his behalf that Mme de 
Polignac and the Marquise de Nesle exchange pistol- 
shots in the Bois de Boulogne. He will have mistresses 
who will aid him even in his acts of infidelity, their 
jealousy stifled by their desire to please ; mistresses upon 
whom he can never heap too many indignities, and 
whose patience he can never tire. When he abuses 
them they kiss his hand ; when he drives them away 
they come back. He will no longer count the portraits, 
the locks of hair, the rings and trinkets, and he will 
forget to whom they belong ; they will be jumbled 
together in his drawers, as they are jumbled in his 
memory. Every morning he awakens to homage ; when 
he rises, prayers greet him from a heap of letters. They 
are thrown away unopened, with the words ' Letters 
which I have not had time to read,' scribbled over the 
superscription. At his death will be found five notes, 
with unbroken seals, all bearing the same date, from 
five great ladies, each begging an appointment of him 
for an hour of the night ! Or it may be that he will 
deign to open them, and then glancing hurriedly through 
them, he will yawn over the burning lines of supplication 
and let them fall from his hands as a minister lets fall 
a petition." 

Emilie du Chatelet must have possessed personal charm 
of a novel order to attract even for a moment the man 
who had only to choose amongst the most beautiful 
women that he met. Perhaps " piquant, radiant, and 



34 An Eighteenth-Century Marquise 

adventurous " ^ are good words to apply to her. But 
she did not pride herself on having won the attention 
of the most popular man of the hour. She was not at 
all the sort of woman to boast of her conquests. She 
was sincere when she wrote that Voltaire *' does not 
pardon me for having indulged in passing sentiments 
for you, light as they were. Assuredly the character 
of my friendship should repair this error, and if it is to 
that I owe yours, I shall say, in spite of all my remorse : 

felix culpa ! It would have been much sweeter to 
me to owe it to your esteem, and to be able to take 
pleasure in it without blushing every moment under 
the eyes of my ami tnttme ; but such is my destiny, 
and it is necessary to submit to it. I ought to seek 
to wipe out this idea, but remorse continually renews 
it. I should have been too happy without that." 

That was her attitude — she was not ashamed of having 
been Richelieu's mistress, or if ashamed, then only with 
a surface show of remorse for expediency's sake, but 
neither did she glory in it ; she only rejoiced in being 
his friend. Her letters to him strike that note continu- 
ally, almost at the risk of becoming wearisome through 
repetition. " It is the privilege of friendship," she cries, 
" to see one's friend in every condition of his soul. 

1 love you sad, gay, lively, oppressed ; I wish that my 
friendship might increase your pleasures, diminish your 
troubles and share them. There is no need on that 
account to have real misfortunes or great pleasures. 
No events are necessary, and I am as much interested 
in your moods and flirtations as other people are in 
the good fortune or bad fortune of the people they 
call their friends. I agree with you that one would 

^ Carlyle, Life of Frederick the Great. 



Parentage and Youth 35 

rather see one's lover rouged, but one prefers to see 
him without rouge than not to see him at all. ... 1 
do not know whether it is flattering to you to say that 
you are as agreeable far off as near by ; but I know 
very well that it is thought to be a great merit by a 
lonely person, who, in renouncing the world, does not 
wish to renounce friendship, and who would be very 
sorry if a necessary absence made a breach between her 
and you. ... I discover in your mind all the charms 
and in your society all the delights which the whole 
world has agreed to find there ; but I am sure that 
no one has felt more than I have the value of your 
friendship. Your heart has prepossessed mine. I be- 
lieved that there was none other but myself who knew 
friendship in a measure so keen, and I was provoked 
by the proofs I wished to give you of it, sometimes 
on account of my scruples, at other times from fear, 
always in defiance of myself. I could not believe that 
any one so amiable, so much sought after, would care 
to disentangle the sentiments of my heart from all my 
faults. I believed that I had known you too late to 
obtain a place in your heart ; 1 believed also, I confess 
it, that you were incapable of continuing to love any 
one who was not necessary to your pleasures and could 
not be useful to you . . . you, unique and incomparable 
man, understand how to combine everything ; delicious 
friendship, intoxication of love, all is felt by you and 
spreads the sweetest charm over your fine destiny. 

" I confess to you that if, after having made me, as 
I may say, give myself up to your friendship, you should 
cease (I do not say to love me) but to tell me of it ; if 
you should allow a breach to appear in your friendship, 
if the remarks or the witticisms of people who find me 

3 



36 An Eighteenth-Century Marquise 

pleasing to-day and who will perhaps be displeased with 
me to-morrow, make the least impression on you, I 
should be inconsolable . . . " ; and again : " I should be 
most unfortunate if you do not keep your friendship 
for me, and if you do not continue to give me proofs 
of it. You would make me repent of the candour 
with which I speak, and my heart does not wish to 
know repentance." 

The sentiment contained in these letters is sincere 
and charming ; they are letters of friendship genuine and 
warm. All the time she is writing them she is in love 
with another man, 

" Good-bye," she concludes. " There is no perfect 
happiness in the world for me until I can unite the 
pleasure of living with you to that of loving him to 
whom I have devoted my life." 

Richelieu was Voltaire's friend as well as hers. The 
acquaintance between the two men began at the close 
of 171 8, soon after the first representation of CEdipe^ and 
the poet was the recipient of many confidences made by 
the duke concerning his affairs of the heart. Reticence 
on these subjects was not Richelieu's strong point. 
Voltaire's own record was not absolutely stainless. His 
mind too had been tainted with the taint of the Regency. 
Hardly a man of them all escaped the influence of 
the brilliant, cultured, profligate Due d'Orleans, " whose 
intellect grasped the future while his vices clung to the 
past," who had made possible the Mmes de Parab^res 
and de Pries and the scandalous doings at the Palais-Royal, 
and who had extended in all directions the luxury, the 
daintiness, and at the same time the coarseness of life. 

Intimate as the two men were, Richelieu had never 
taught Voltaire the finesse of gallantry in which he 



Parentage and Youth 37 

himself was an adept. Voltaire was primarily a poet. 
His passions were intellectual. His critical mind asked 
for experience which had grown upon the tree of science. 
He enjoyed the society of women, but he never gave 
himself up to the systematic art of wooing that was the 
fashion. Women were growing more exacting. They 
had long been accustomed to the flattering language of 
passion ; they required that it should become more and 
more extravagant and symbolic. Their hearts, their ears, 
their feelings were blunted with custom. They demanded 
something fresh, and Voltaire gave them verses because 
verses were dealt out by him as easily as cards by a 
gambler. But he did not trouble himself even to pretend 
that the verses meant more than appeared on the surface. 
They meant less. They were written for the sheer joy 
of writing them, and for the pleasure of seeing an 
answering smile on some fair woman's lips, an answering 
glance from some fair woman's eyes. 

But in his youthful days three women at least had 
awakened temporarily all the passion of which he was 
capable. First there was Mme Olympe du Noyer, the 
adorable Pimpette, who was the heroine of a short, vivid 
delightful episode of his boyhood. Then there was Mile 
de Livri, companion to the Duchesse de Sully, with 
whom he rode in coaches, and enjoyed surreptitious 
suppers, and played the sentimental attendant, until 
she spoilt things by falling in love with his friend De 
Genonville, who died of small-pox in 1723. She tried 
to keep Voltaire's friendship too, and wheedled him into 
letting her act in the revival of CEdipe, but she was not 
at all a success. Presently she married the Marquis de 
Gouvernet, and in after-years she met her old lover, and 
they discussed the springtime of love together like two sen- 



38 An Eighteenth-Century Marquise 

timental children. His passion for Adrienne Lecou^ 
was a more serious thing, and had much of torment in 
it, because she was a great actress and belonged to the 
public rather than to any one man. There were other 
women with whose names his own was more or less 
truthfully linked — the gay and witty Mme de Villars, 
the Presidente de Bernieres, his philosophic friend Mme 
de Rupelmonde, and a few others, who attracted him, but 
who were incidental to a life that was at that time full 
of change and movement and stress. He was a strange 
genius, this Voltaire — poet, story-teller, dramatist, historian, 
philosopher, savant and courtier (though he would never 
admit the courtier), who was French, yet belonged ex- 
clusively to no one nation ; who lived amongst those 
of highest rank, yet was born of the middle-class and 
found court life irksome ; who was destined to spend his 
days amidst volcano-like eruptions and explosions, whether 
at Paris, Berlin, Cirey or elsewhere, and who was prepared 
to dodge lettres de cachet as an impecunious individual 
dodges unpaid bills. And this man was to link his life 
with a woman as restless, feverish and intellectual as 
himself, and who had still more energy and passion than 
he. Twenty years had passed since he had been the 
lover of Pimpette, and no sooner had he met Emilie than 
all other women appeared as naught in his eyes. Before 
they met the strongest link between them was their 
mutual friendship for Richelieu. 

In 1720 the latter had been elected a member of the 
Academy, and the following year he entered Parlement. 
It was not until 1722 that Richelieu and Voltaire became 
thoroughly intimate, and that the poet was frequently the 
duke's guest at the Hotel de Richelieu and elsewhere. 
Early in 1725 Richelieu went to Vienna, and did not 




VOLTAIRE AS A YOUNG MAN 
{After a painting by Largilliere) 



39 



% 



Parentage and Youth 41 

return to France until July 1728. During this time 
Voltaire was in England, and the friends did not meet 
until the spring of 1729. They stayed at Plombieres 
together, and were both in Paris in July 1730. In 
the autumn of the following year Voltaire was staying 
with Richelieu at Versailles, in 1733 he was at his house 
in Fontainebleau, and about that date he conceived the 
idea of marrying the incorrigible lady's man to the 
youngest daughter of his old friend the Prince de Guise. 
But before this plan came to anything, the meeting had 
taken place between Voltaire and Mme du Chatelet, 
which utterly changed the face of the world for both of 
them. 



CHAPTER II 

AN INTIMATE FRIENDSHIP 

SOMETIMES it happens that a meeting between 
two people is significant of everything. This was 
true in the case of Voltaire and Mme du Chatelet. It 
was not their first meeting. They had seen each other 
before in the early days — probably at her father's house 
when Emilie was a child, for Voltaire knew the Baron de 
Breteuil well. " I saw her born," he wrote of the baron's 
daughter in a letter to Dumas d'Aigueberre, which was 
to tell him of her death in 1749. " It was you who helped 
me to renew my acquaintance, more than twenty years 
ago, with that unfortunate lady who has just died in the 
most unfortunate circumstances, and who has left me 
alone in the world." The twenty years were in reality 
only sixteen. D'Aigueberre introduced them to one 
another, it is thought at Sceaux, early in 1733. But 
Voltaire knew Mme du Chatelet well enough by reputa- 
tion, not improbably through her scientific connection 
with Maupertuis. 

In 1 73 1 he wrote her some verses on the epic 
poets. The following year he addressed to the " charm- 
ing and sublime Emilie " his Ode on Fanaticism. His 
first dated letter referring to her is considered by the 
authorities to have been written to Cideville on July 3, 
1733, in which he refers to the Epitre en Vers sur la 
Calomnie dedicated to a very amiable and much calumni- 
ated lady. It was true then that he knew of her relations 

42 



An Intimate Friendship 43 

with Richelieu. In the light of what happened later, nay, 
was to happen within a few weeks, the first lines of the 
Epttre read like a strange warning, a warning he himself 
was the last to heed, or to help her to realise. The 
writing of these verses led to that significant meeting. 
They began : 

Ecoutez-moi, respectable fimilie : 
Vous etes belle ; ainsi done la moitie 
Du genre humain sera votre ennemie : 
Vous possedez un sublime genie ; 
On vous craindra : votre tendre amitie 
Est confiante, et vous serez trahie. 
Votre vertu dans sa demarche unie, 
Simple et sans fard, n'a point sacrifie, 
A nos devots ; craignez la calomnie.' 

In the course of the poem Voltaire proceeded to paint 
J. B. Rousseau under the name of Rufus as a perfidious 
soul : 

That Rufus whom your sire befriended 
And from the attacks of want defended. 

At that time this unfortunate individual was in exile, 
and could not have been responsible for a slander upon 
the daughter as he had been previously for a libellous 
attack upon the Baron. Rousseau was the son of a 
shoemaker and a servant. He was born in 1671, and 

' Epistle upon Calumny. Translation by Francklin and Smollett, 1781 : 

Since beautiful, 'twill be your fate, 

Emilia, to incur much hate, 

Almost one half of human race 

Will even curse you to your face ; 

Possest of genius, noblest fire, 

With fear you will each breast inspire ; 

As you too easily confide, 

You'll often be betray'd, belied : 

You ne'er of virtue made parade. 

To Hypocrites no court you've paid, 

Therefore of Calumny beware, 

Foe to the virtuous and the fair. 



44 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise 

his father, seeing the boy had exceptional talents, strove 
his utmost to give him a position better than his own. 
At first he was destined for the Church, but made his 
debut in the literary world with several more or less 
unsuccessful plays, of which Le Cafe was one of the 
earliest. Among his protectors were Chamillard, Tallard, 
the Baron de Breteuil, and Saint-Evremont. He behaved 
very badly to all of them. He went as copyist in the 
secretarial office of M. Tallard, the French Ambassador 
to England, and his unfortunate taste for epigram soon 
led to his dismissal. Returning to France he found 
employment with the Bishop of Viviers, where, Voltaire 
said, he wrote the *' Moisade," and the Bishop dismissed 
him. Oddly enough Rousseau accused Voltaire of being 
the author of the " Moisade," which was by Lourdet. 
His next venture was in the secretarial office of the 
Swedish Embassy, but that did not last long. He came 
back to Paris fortified by a letter of introduction to the 
Baron de Breteuil, who was still Introducer of Ambas- 
sadors. He recited some of his verses. The Baron, who 
had both taste and culture, was charmed, and employed 
Rousseau as his secretary and man of letters, heaping 
favours upon him. But Rousseau could not keep up 
friendly relations with the other servants of the house- 
hold ; and once, during a journey to the Baron's estate of 
Preuilly, in Touraine, he complained of having been 
badly treated. In revenge he wrote a satire on his master, 
called " La Baronnade," " as," explained Voltaire, " he had 
called his piece against Moses Moisade, and his piece 
against M. de Francine la Francinade." Rousseau had 
the unpardonable taste to read this effusion to various 
people, among others to the Duchesse de Saint-Pierre. 
The Baron heard of it, and was furious. At length he 



An Intimate Friendship 45 

forgave his secretary, who denied the authorship, but 
refused to employ him any longer, arid placed him with 
M. Rouille, where Rousseau had the audacity to parody 
a verse that his new master composed in honour of 
his mistress Mile de Louvancourt. When all this took 
place Emilie was still a child of not more than ten ; but 
she knew the whole story, probably through the 
Duchesse de Saint-Pierre, who became one of her greatest 
friends. 

At the time when he wrote the Epttre sur la Calomniej 
which was not printed till three years later, Voltaire 
corresponded with the Duchesse de Saint-Pierre, praising 
her letters and saying that he dare no longer write in 
prose since he had seen her letters and those of her 
friend. This versifying and correspondence roused the 
duchess and the marquise to a greater interest in the 
poet, and before many weeks had passed they paid a 
memorable visit to Voltaire, a visit so startling and delight- 
ful, that ever after that day he believed in divinities, like 
Abraham : 

Vers les approches de la nuit 
Une visite de trois anges. 

The only difference was that the celestial trio supped 
at Abraham's house, and Voltaire's visitors would not 
deign to accept his hospitality. The intellectual feast, 
however, was perfect. Of the three Voltaire was only 
aware of one, the divine Emilie, in whom he recognised 
a kindred spirit ; but the verse he produced to celebrate 
the visit was practical to the extent of being prosaic : 

Ciel ! que j'entendrais s'^crier, 
Marianne, ma cuisiniere, 
Si la Duchesse de Saint-Pierre, 
Du Chatelet et Forcalquier, 
Venait souper dans ma tanidre ! 



46 An Eightcenth^Century Marquise 

The gay Forcalquier, who was a great favourite among 
women, and of whom it was said that he never entered a 
room without brightening it, was the eldest son of the 
Marechal de Brancas, and at that time was dancing 
attendance on the Duchesse de Saint-Pierre. The 
duchess was a daughter of the Marquis de Croissy and 
niece of Colbert. Born in 1682, she was twenty-four 
years older than Mme du Chatelet, a difference in age 
which did not seem to affect in the least a similarity of 
tastes. Mme de Saint-Pierre had been twice widowed. 
She had been dame d'honneur to the Queen of Spain, and 
had travelled in Italy. She knew Vienna as well as 
Madrid. 

On the death of the Due de Saint-Pierre, in 1727, she 
came to France, and was closely in touch with the Court 
through her brother, the Marquis de Torcy, Minister for 
Foreign Affairs. It is probable that her friendship with 
Emilie began about this time. Several flattering portraits 
were written about the duchess. Saint-Simon described 
her as very beautiful. Mme de Staal said she was a 
pleasant, sociable woman, and a very desirable companion. 
Mile A'lsse wrote to Mme Calandrini, in December 1730, 
a very attractive description of a woman who was no 
longer in her youth. 

" This lady is always beautiful. She has preserved 
a fine complexion, a full throat ; she might be only 
twenty years old. She is very lovable, she has seen 
good company ; and a stern husband, who knew the 
world, has made her charmingly polite. She knows 
how to wear the air of a grande dame without humiliating 
others. She has not at all the kind of haughty politeness 
which patronises. She has much wit. She knows how to 
say flattering things, and how to put people at their ease." 



An Intimate Friendship 47 

It was left to President Henault to put the finishing 
touches to the picture : " Everything about her is 
noble," he wrote — " her countenance, her tastes, the 
style of her letters, her discourses, her politeness. Her 
words are choice without being affected, her conversation 
is agreeable and interesting. She has forgotten nothing, 
and she has seen a great deal. But she always regulates 
the length of her recitals according to the desire of 
others. Without omitting any essential circumstances 
she makes one regret their brevity. If books were 
written as well as she speaks, love of reading would 
be the virtue of all the world. 

" She has an admirable discernment in the choice of 
friends, and her friendship is courageous and unassail- 
able " — that was a compliment to Emilie. *' In short, 
she is a person born to shine in the grand world, and 
the only one who gives us an idea of what we hear 
said concerning the true politeness of courtly manners." 

Surely Voltaire endorsed all these amiable remarks 
a thousand-fold ! How could he do otherwise, when 
under the wing of this charming duchess came the one 
woman in the universe for him ? She glided like a 
spirit from the world of ideals into the ugly and 
commonplace apartments he had chosen in the Rue de 
Long-Pont. Mme du Chatelet was substantial enough, 
it is true, and grace was never her strong point ; but 
lovers, especially when they are poets, do not trouble 
to be literal. The rooms in the house of the corn- 
merchant Demoulin, into which he had removed after 
his travels in the spring of 1733, never seemed dull 
again. 

" I am at last opposite the Church of Saint-Gervais," 
he had written to Cideville, "in the worst quarter of 



48 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise 

Paris, in the worst house, more deafened by the noise 
of bells than a sacristan, but I make so much noise 
with my lyre that the noise of the bells will be nothing 
to me." Other thoughts occupied his mind after he 
had met Mme du Chatelet, thoughts to which he gave 
vent in an expression of supreme satisfaction addressed 
to the same old friend, on August 14, "You are Emilie 
in a man, and she is Cideville in a woman." 

Few great men have won the companionship of the 
one woman on such equal terms. Neither Goethe nor 
Chateaubriand, neither Mirabeau nor Balzac, loved 
women with half as many qualities in common with 
their own. Voltaire and Emilie were both essentially 
intellectual and egoistic ; they both possessed super- 
abundant nervous energy, an unslaked thirst after 
knowledge and the truth, a passion to produce, to make 
an effect, and a reckless disregard of the opinion of other 
people ; they were both too big to be bound by laws 
made by man to shield weaker men and women, and 
both desired to understand the laws of nature and write 
about them for the enlightenment of others. These were 
some of the characteristics which brought them together. 
But their differences were as marked. Voltaire was the 
more imaginative, the more original, and the more 
purposeful ; Mme du Chatelet the more precise, per- 
severing, and methodical in thought. He was generous 
to a fault, and forgiving ; she was never tired of receiving, 
and if she considered more was due to her she did not 
hesitate to urge her claims. In such a union it was 
not surprising that clashes of will should occur and that 
sparks should be emitted in the process of fusing ideas 
and imposing them upon others. 

Other great men have looked for a reflection of all 



An Intimate Friendship 49 

they were not in the women they loved ; their wayward 
genius demanded in the partner a calm patience, and a 
gentle persistent optimism, which should be ever ready 
in reserve for them to draw upon when their own failed. 
To every great mind there come moments when the 
world seems to totter, and the desire is overwhelming 
to commune with a fellow- mind that has a steady 
equilibrium. Voltaire was not exempt from such 
moments. They abounded in his volcanic career. But 
Mme du Chatelet had no such soothing influence upon 
him. When roused she was quite as mercurial as he, 
and less able to regain the balance and resume the sway 
of reason. The action of nerves on edge upon nerves 
yet more highly strung was at times an appalling thing. 
But Voltaire and Emilie would not have been themselves 
had the sway of love been unbroken. Intermittence 
gave zest to their friendship. In the hours of his 
triumph no one could have responded more fully than 
she, nor could any one have been more loyal to her 
success than he. Together they raised a chorus of joy 
in accomplishment. She had stronger physical life than 
he, which gave her an advantage, but which in time 
caused her to resent, like most healthy individuals, 
the hypochondriacal tendencies in another. When the 
fire of his youth had departed, she was still in love 
with love, and therein lay something of a tragedy. 
But that day was not to arrive for many years to 
come. 

After the visit to his rooms in the Rue de Long-Pont, 
their intimacy increased by leaps and bounds. She was 
Emilie to all his friends, he was the one man that mattered 
to all of hers. 

The Epitre sur la Calomnie aroused a great deal of 



so An Eighteenth^Ccntury Marquise 

interest among Voltaire's acquaintances, and several of 
them asked to be allowed to see it. It was one of his 
misfortunes that his writings frequently fell into the 
hands of indiscreet people, who were eager to rush them 
into print and risk the result of this misplaced enthusiasm, 
which generally led to fresh persecutions for the author. 
On July 24, 1733, he promised to send the Epitre to 
Thieriot ; on August 2 he had gained wisdom, oVing 
to a difference of opinion on the subject with his lady- 
love, and he wrote to Cideville that he dare not send the 
Epitre because she had forbidden him to do so. But 
Cideville persisted, and " asked so well " that not even 
the cautious Emilie could withhold her assent, though 
she stipulated that the verses were to be returned without 
being copied. A third request for a sight of them had 
been made by ithe Abbe Sade, author of Memoires -pour 
la Vie de Petrarque, and one of the typical Abbes of 
the day, who combined his profession with a love of 
letters and a taste for liaisons. Sade was just about to 
leave Paris. "The divine Emilie knows how much I 
love you and how greatly I shall regret your absence," 
wrote Voltaire. " She knows your worth and mingles 
her grief with mine. She is the kind of woman one 
does not meet every day, and certainly merits your esteem 
and friendship." Regarding the Epitre sur la Calomnie, 
he added, " You know well that it is necessary to address 
yourself to the divinity herself, and not to one of her 
priests, and that I can do nothing without her orders. 
You may well believe that it is impossible to disobey 
her," and then he improved the occasion by dwelling 
on the virtues of the new-found goddess. She had not 
been weaned from the world and its vanities, a fact in 
which he gloried : 



An Intimate Friendship 51 

Cette belle ame est une 6toffe 
Qu'elle brode en mille fa9ons ; 
Son esprit est tres philosophe, 
Et son ctEur aime les pompons.' 

What harm could there be hi that, he declared, since 
the ** pompons " and the world belong to her age and 
her merit far transcends her age, her sex and the opposite 
sex ? " Her only fault, if fault she has, is that she is 
tyrannical, and in order to pay court to her it is necessary 
to discuss metaphysics when one is dying to speak of 
love all the time." That must have been a great hard- 
ship to Voltaire, and one which he endeavoured to 
overcome by writing verses expressing the admiration 
with which her intellectual gifts inspired him, and the 
adoration of his soul for her personal charms : 

Sans doute vous serez cel^bre 
Par les grands calculs de I'algebre, 
Ou votre esprit est absorbe 
J'oserais m'y livrer moi-meme ; 
Mais hdas! A + D-B 
N'est pas = ^ je vous aime. 

By the end of the year she was his Urania — what 
mattered it that in earlier days another woman had the 
same honour, and that verses to Urania were addressed 
to Mme Rupelmonde ? All other Uranias were gone, 
forgotten, then and for ever, in this new one : 

Je vous adore, 6 ma chere Uranie : 
Pourquoi si tard m'avez-vous enflamm6 ? 
Qu'ai-je done fait des beaux jours de ma vie ? 
Us sont perdus : je n'avais point aime, 
J 'avals cherche dans I'erreur du bel age 
Ce dieu d'amour, ce dieu de mes d6sirs ; 
Je n'en trouvai qu'une trompeuse image, 
Je n'embrassai que I'ombre des plaisirs. 



' Her soul is like a brook which has a thousand ripples, her mind is 
gravely philosophical, but her heart rejoices in trinkets. 



52 An Eightcenth^Century Marquise 

Non, les baisers des plus tendres mattresses ; 
Non, ces moments comptes par cent caresses, 
Moments si doux et si voluptueux, 
Ne valent pas un regard de tes yeux.^ 

His poems breathed a fiery passion : his letters to 
Emilie, with the exception of two incomplete fragments, 
were lost. They probably contained equal warmth of 
feeling. Eight volumes full of them, said Voisenon, 
were burnt. 

The months rolled on. Voltaire was still in the 
Rue de Long-Pont, Emilie was always at the Court, 
" a divine bee that carried its honey to the drones of 
Versailles," and their mutual friend Richelieu was pre- 
paring for the marriage on which Voltaire had set his 
heart. 

" I am leaving to be witness at a marriage I have 
just made," he wrote to Cideville. " A long time ago 
it entered my head to marry M. de Richelieu to Mile 
de Guise. I conducted this affair like an intrigue in 
a comedy ; the denouement will be at Montjeu, near 
Autun. Poets are more accustomed to make epithala- 
miums than contracts, but I have nevertheless made 
the contract ; probably I shall make no verses." But 
he did. 

Mile de Guise lived at her father's house in the 
Temple. The young princess was tall, had fine eyes, 
and the upper part of her face was charming, but her 

* I adore you, dearest Urania, Why have you kindled my love so late? 
What have I done with the best days of my life ? They were wasted, 
for I never really loved, I sought in the error of youth the god of love, 
the god of my desires. I found only a deceptive image, I embraced only 
the shadow of delight. No kisses bestowed by the most tender of 
mistresses, nor moments which held a hundred caresses, moments that 
were both sweet and voluptuous, can be counted worth one glance from 
your eyes. 



An Intimate Friendship 53 

mouth was large and ill-furnished with teeth. Her 
carriage and manners proclaimed gentleness and majesty. 
Richelieu was satisfied with an alliance with the imperial 
house, which promised honour enough, though no wealth. 
Illustrious as was the birth of Mile de Guise, her 
fortune was insignificant. 

Like many others of her sex, she was ready to worship 
at the shrine of the amajit volage, and Voltaire com- 
posed a verse warning her to keep her affections under 
control if she valued her happiness : 

Ne vous aimez pas trop, c'est moi qui vous en prie; 
C'est le plus sur mo3'en de vous aimer toujours : 
II faut mieux etre amis tous les temps de sa vie 
Que d'etre amants pour quelques jours.^ 

Richelieu waived the question of dowry, and the 
wedding bells rang merrily. Voltaire and Emilie were 
both present at Montjeu, the latter none the less rejoicing 
at her friend's good fortune because he had once been 
her lover. 

The marriage took place on April 27, and the 
bridegroom left soon afterwards to join the army. 
Emilie wrote several letters to her friends from Montjeu, 
"the most beautiful place in the world, where the 
people were charming." The only cloud that came to 
dull the sky of happiness was Voltaire's anxiety regarding 
the Lettres sur les Anglaisy which had been printed by 
Jore without his authorisation and with his name on the 
title page. To these letters was appended the Lettre 
sur les Pensees de Pascal, which he declared it had been 
his intention to destroy. 

* Do not love too deeply, I beg of you ; that is the surest way to 
love always. It is much better to be friends throughout the whole of 
life than lovers for a few days. 

4 



54 An Eighteenth-Century Marquise 

Immediately after the wedding he wrote to Cideville, 
" I do not really wear the air of the fair Hymen, but 
I have performed the functions of this charitable god." 
He then proceeded to tell RicheHeu of the danger which 
threatened. He wrote similar letters to Formont, to 
the Abbe d'Olivet, and to Maupertuis, the last containing 
a hint of coming exile : "I shall have much more to 
complain of than you if I have to go to London or 
Basel whilst you are in Paris with Mme du Chatelet," 
—your geometrician, as he called her,— " Cartesians, 
Malebranchists, Jansenists, all are railing at me ; but I 
hope for your support. It is necessary that you should 
become chef de secte, please. You are the apostle of 
Locke and of Newton, and an apostle of your standing 
with a disciple like Mme du Chatelet could easily give 
sight to the blind." 

Moncrif, Berger and d'Argental also shared his 
confidence, and on May 6 he fled from Montjeu, leaving 
Emilie behind to mourn his departure. No one knew 
exactly where he had gone. " All who were at Montjeu 
sent me quickly to Lorraine," he wrote. His book 
was burned publicly at Paris on June lo, and his 
lodgings were searched. Jore was thrown into the 
Bastille. 

" My friend Voltaire, towards whom my sentiments 
are known to you," wrote Mme du Chatelet on 
May \i} "is supposed to be at the Chateau d'Auxonne, 
near Dijon. He left us some days ago to go and take 
the waters at Plombieres, of which his health has stood 

> There is no reason to doubt that this letter, which was published in 
Lettres de M. de Voltaire et de sa celebre amie, addressed to an 
anonymous correspondent, was to Richelieu, as asserted by M, Des- 
noireterres. M. Eugene Asse, in his collected edition of Mme du 
Chatelet's letters, however, does not confirm the statement. 



An Intimate Friendship 55 

In need for some time past, when one of the men of 
M. de La Briffe, Intendant of Bourgogne, brought me 
a lettre de cachet^ instructing him to go to the said 
Auxonne and there await fresh orders. He was told 
that he was at Plombieres. I do not doubt that he 
will receive the King's orders immediately and that he 
may have to obey. There is no alternative when one 
cannot escape them. I do not think he can be warned 
before he receives them. It is impossible for me to 
describe my grief ; I do not feel as though I could 
bear to hear that my best friend, in his present 
frightful state of health, had been put into a prison where 
he would certainly die of grief, if he did not die of 
disease. ... I spent ten days here with him and 
Mme de Richelieu ; I believe I have never spent more 
agreeable ones anywhere, but I lost him at the time 
when I felt most keenly the joy of having him beside 
me, and to lose him in such a way ! I should have less 
to complain of if he had been in England. His company 
having been the happiness of my life, his safety would 
have made me feel tranquil. But to know that he, 
with his health and imagination, might be imprisoned, 
I say it again, I have not enough strength of mind to 
make me bear the thought. Mme de Richelieu has 
been my only consolation. She is charming ; her heart is 
capable of friendship and gratitude. She is, if that be 
possible, even more afflicted than I, for she owes to him 
her marriage, the happiness of her life. We suffer and 
we console ourselves in each other's company." 

Meanwhile Voltaire was hasteninor to Basel. *' Votre 
protege Jore m'a perdu," he cried in his anxiety to 
Cideville, and he wrote letter after letter to influential 
friends at home to help him. Amongst others Mme 



56 An Eighteenth-Century Marquise 

du DefFand and the Duchesse d'Aiguillon exerted them- 
selves on his behalf. Discretion was never Voltaire's 
strong point, however, and in July, hearing that Richelieu 
had been seriously wounded in a duel, he showed him- 
self at the camp of Phillipsburg, just after the Duke 
had killed the Prince de Lixin, with whom he had 
quarrelled because the latter had refused to sign his 
marriage contract. The Prince was his wife's cousin, 
and husband of one of the celebrated Craon women 
who shone at the Court of Luneville. 

Mme du Chatelet was terrified lest this mad act 
should prejudice Voltaire still further in the eyes of the 
authorities, and she cudgelled her brains to find means 
of ensuring the safety of the man she adored. The 
rumours of banishment grew louder and more loud. 
" In his place I would have been in London or in The 
Hague long ago," she wrote. " I confess that I am 
terribly afflicted. I shall never accustom myself to live 
without him, and the idea of losing him beyond hope of 
return will poison the sweetness of my life." 

In this her hour of need she was struck by an in- 
spiration. Voltaire should go to Cirey. The astonishing 
thin^ was that she had not thought of it sooner. True, 
the castle was a tumbledown old place that had been 
in her husband's family for centuries and had not been 
repaired for many years. Part of it could easily be made 
habitable, though— if Voltaire cared to provide money 
for the purpose. Cirey was so near the Lorraine frontier 
that within a few steps perfect safety would await him. 
As for the other risks attendant upon such a project, 
it was not the moment to think of them. The matter 
was arranged at fever heat, Voltaire expressed the 
delight with which he was prepared to avail himself of 



An Intimate Friendship 57 

such an offer. To him it seemed a heaven-appointed 
way out of all his difficulties. He would be able to 
v/ork there unfearing, undisturbed, and in peace. He 
could make love there under the most idyllic conditions. 
At the time his heart beat fondly, wildly, at the daring, 
the utter lawlessness of the scheme ; in after-years he 
discussed it calmly enough in his Memoirs. 

" I was tired of the lazy and turbulent life led at 
Paris," he wrote, shearing the episode of more than 
half its risk and glamour, "and of the multitude of 
petits-maitres^ of bad books printed with the approbation 
of censors and the privilege of the King, of the cabals 
and parties among the learned ; and of the mean arts, 
plagiarism and book-making which dishonour literature. 

"In the year 1733 I met with a young lady who 
happened to think nearly as I did, and who took a 
resolution to go with me and spend several years in 
the country, there to cultivate her understanding far 
from the hurry and tumult of the world . . . and those 
amusements which were adapted to her sex and age ; she, 
however, determined to quit them all, and go and bury 
herself in an old ruinous chateau upon the borders of 
Champagne and Lorraine, and situated in a barren and 
unhealthy soil. This old chateau she ornamented and 
embellished with tolerably pretty gardens ; I built a 
gallery and formed a very good collection of natural 
history ; in addition to which we had a library not badly 
furnished. 

" We were visited by several of the learned, who came 
to philosophise in our retreat : among others we had 
the celebrated Koenig for two entire years, who has 
since died professor at The Hague, and librarian to her 
highness the Princess of Orange. Maupertuis came 



58 An Eightecnth'Ccntury Marquise 

also, with Jean Bernoulli, and there it was that 
Maupertuis, who was born the most jealous of all 
human beings, made me the object of a passion which 
has ever been to him exceedingly dear. 

" I taught English to Mme du Chatelet, who, in 
about three months, understood it as well as 1 did, and 
read Newton, Locke, and Pope, with equal ease. She 
learnt Italian likewise as soon. We read all the works 
of Tasso and Ariosto together, so that when Algarotti 
came to Cirey, where he finished his " New.tonianismo 
per le Dame" (the Ladies' Newton), he found her 
sufficiently skilful in his own language to give him 
some very excellent information by which he profited. 
Algarotti was a Venetian, the son of a very rich trades- 
man, and very amiable ; he had travelled all over Europe, 
he knew a little of everything, and gave to everything 
a grace. 

*' In this our delightful retreat we sought only in- 
struction, and troubled not ourselves concerning what 
passed in the rest of the world. We long employed all 
our attention and powers upon Leibnitz and Newton : 
Mme du Chatelet attached herself first to Leibnitz, 
and explained one part of his system in a book exceedingly 
well written, entitled Institutions de Physique. She did 
not seek to decorate philosophy with ornaments to which 
philosophy is a stranger ; such affectation never was 
part of her character, which was masculine and just. 
The qualities of her style were clearness, precision, and 
elegance. If it be ever possible to give the semblance 
of truth to the ideas of Leibnitz, it will be found in 
that book : but at present few people trouble themselves 
to know how or what Leibnitz thought. 

"Born with a love of truth, she soon abandoned 



An Intimate Friendship $9 

system, and applied herself to the discoveries of the 
great Newton ; she translated his whole book on the 
principles of the mathematics into French ; and when she 
had afterwards enlarged her knowledge, she added to 
this book, which so f^w people understand, an * Algebraical 
Commentary,' which likewise is not to be understood 
by the general reader. M. Clairaut, one of our best 
geometricians, has carefully reviewed this ' Commentary,' 
an edition of it was begun, and it is not to the honour 
of the age that it was never finished. 

" At Cirey we cultivated all the arts ; it was there 
I composed Alzire, Merope^ VEnfant Prodigue^ and 
Mahomet. For her use I wrote an Essay on Universal 
History^ from the age of Charlemagne to the present. 
I chose the epoch of Charlemagne because it was the 
point of time at which Bossuet stopped, and because I 
dare not, again, treat a subject handled by so great a 
master. Mme du Chatelet, however, was far from 
satisfied with the Universal History of this prelate ; she 
thought it eloquent only, and was provoked to find 
that the labours of Bossuet were all wasted upon a nation 
so despicable as the Jewish." 

The fair Emilie's view of the important step she 
contemplated was naturally far less serene and matter-of- 
fact, and concerned itself with other things than the 
purely intellectual. She could not foresee how her friends 
would regard the arrangement. She feared — a hundred 
nameless possibilities. Perhaps people would be indiscreet 
enough to gossip ; not that she minded personally what 
they said, but because their ill-timed remarks might reach 
her husband's ears, and set that worthy gentleman 
thinking. Then there would be times when the Marquis 
would come to Cirey, and she dreaded the trials to temper 



6o An Eighteenth^Ccntury Marquise 

of a menage a trots. Besides, she did not feel quite certain 
that she would not miss the accustomed gaiety of Paris. 
On the other hand was the joy of devoting herself to 
the happiness of the man she loved. 

Her misgivings as to the success of the plan are set 
forth in her letters to Richelieu early in 1735 — that is to 
say after she had spent a few weeks with Voltaire in the 
country in October and November of 1 734. She returned 
to Paris before Christmas, and it was early summer before 
the lovers paid their next visit to Cirey. She poured 
forth her feelings and impressions on this difficult subject 
in all sincerity to the man she had insisted on retaining 
as an intimate friend : 

** On this matter there are things which I have never 
said, either to you or to any one, least of all Voltaire. 
But there is heroism, perhaps folly, in my shutting myself 
up at Cirey en tiers. Nevertheless the decision has been 
made. I still believe that I shall be able to master and 
destroy the suspicions of my husband more easily than 
to curb the imagination of Voltaire. In Paris I should 
lose him beyond return and without a remedy. At Cirey 
I can at least hope that love will render still more opaque 
the veil which ought, for his own happiness and ours, 
to shield the eyes of my husband. I pray of you have 
the kindness to say nothing about this to Voltaire. He 
would be overcome by anxiety, and I fear nothing more 
than to afflict him, especially if it be uselessly. Keep 
your eloquence for my husband, and prepare to love 
me when I am unhappy, should I ever become so. To 
prevent my being entirely miserable, I am going to spend 
the three happiest months of my life. I leave in four 
days, and I am daring to write to you in the midst of 
the confusion of departure. My mind is weighed down 



An Intimate Friendship 6i 

with the thought of it, but my heart is full of joy. The 
hope that this step will persuade him that I love him 
hides all other ideas from me, and I see nothing but 
the extreme happiness of curing all his fears and of 
spending my whole life with him. You see you were 
wrong, for assuredly my head has been turned, and 
I confess that in spite of this his anxiety and distrust 
sensibly affect me. I know that this is the torment of 
his life. It may well be that on this very account it 
will poison mine. But perhaps we may both be right. 
There is a great deal of difference between jealousy and 
the fear of not being loved enough. One can brave the 
one if one feels that one does not merit it, but one 
cannot refrain from being touched and afflicted by the 
other. One is a troublesome feeling, and the other a 
gentle sense of uneasiness against which there are fewer 
weapons and fewer remedies, except that of going to 
Cirey to be happy. There in truth is the metaphysics 
of love, and that is where the excess of this passion brings 
one. All this appears to me to be the clearest thing in 
the world and the most natural." 

These are the qualms of a woman to whom to love 
and to be loved is of the utmost importance, and who 
is prepared to sacrifice all else in life, honour included. 
On May 20 she referred to the subject again : 
" The more I reflect on Voltaire's situation and on 
mine, the more I think the steps I am taking are 
necessary. Firstly, I believe that all those who love 
passionately should live in the country together if that 
is possible for them, but I think still more that I cannot 
keep my hold on his imagination elsewhere. I should 
lose him sooner or later in Paris, or at least I should 
pass my days fearing to lose him and in having cause 



62 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise 

to lament over him. ... I love him enough, I confess 
it to you, to sacrifice all the pleasure and delight I might 
enjoy in Paris for the sake of the happiness of living 
with him without fears, and of the pleasure of wresting 
him in spite of himself from the effects of his own 
imprudence and fate. The only thing which causes me 
anxiety, and which I shall have to manage carefully about, 
is the presence of M. du Chatelet. I count greatly on 
what you are going to say to him. Peace would destroy 
all our hopes, although I cannot keep myself from longing 
for it on your account. My position is indeed embar- 
rassing ; but love changes all the thorns into flowers, as 
it will do among the mountains of Cirey, our terrestrial 
paradise. I cannot believe that I am born to be unhappy ; 
I see only the delight of spending all the moments of 
my life in the company of the one I love, and see how 
much I count on your friendship, by the confidence with 
which I have written of myself for four pages without the 
fear of boring you. 

" It seems rather insipid to come back to the stupid 
bustle of the everyday world after this, but I have several 
interesting things to tell you." 

She then proceeded to write of affairs at Court ; but 
hardly a day passed before she returned to the topic 
nearest her heart — the desire that her husband should not 
be allowed to misinterpret her actions, that at all costs 
he must be sounded on the subject of Voltaire and be 
brought to see the necessity of the step she proposed to 
take. For this part of the arrangements she relied on 
her friend. 

On May 22 she wrote : "If you see M. du Chatelet, 
as I have no doubt you will, speak of me to him with 
esteem and friendship ; above all boast about my journey, 



An Intimate Friendship 63 

my courage, and the good effect it will have. Speak to 
him of Voltaire simply, but with interest and friendship, 
and try to insinuate especially that it would be absurd to be 
jealous of a woman who pleases one, whom one esteems, 
and who conducts herself well ; that might be essential 
to me. He has great respect for your intelligence, and 
will readily be of your opinion on this matter. You see 
with what confidence I address you. You are certainly 
the only person in the universe to whom I should dare 
to say so much. But you know my way of thinking, 
and I trust that this mark of confidence will increase 
your friendship without taking anything from your 
esteem." 

A curious letter for any woman to write, and not one 
which enhances a good opinion of her. But she might 
have spared the words and saved her dignity. M. du 
Chatelet had no complaint to make. He also was a 
philosopher in his way. And the two who had chosen 
to share the good and bad fortune of life together settled 
down on their estate in the wild desert, spending but 
little time in sighing lovers' sighs or in singing madrigals 
in the green arcades of the park. They turned to 
intellectual pursuits with a new zest, they armed them- 
selves for discussion, they burned for glory and display, 
and Voltaire summed up his content in a phrase : " I 
have the happiness to be in a terrestrial paradise where 
there is an Eve, and where I have not the disadvantage 
of being an Adam." 

Of all the lovers who had wandered in generations 
past through the gardens of that old chateau, surely 
there had never been so strange a pair, nor any brought 
there under greater stress of circumstances. 

To begin with, the castle was almost a ruin. It had 



64 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise 

been in the Du Chatelet family since the early years 
of the fifteenth century. The name was one of the 
oldest and most important in the chivalric records of 
Lorraine, for the Du Chatelets claimed connection, 
through a younger branch, with the ducal house. To- 
gether with the Ligniville, the Harancourt, and the 
Lenoncourt, they formed the four grands chevaux de 
Lorraine^ a term of which the origin is unknown. 
The eight or ten families which came next in importance 
were known as the 'petits chevaux. 

The estate of Cirey came into the possession of the 
family through Alix, daughter and heiress of the Baron 
de Saint-Eulien and Cirey, who married Erard du 
Chatelet surnamed Le Grand. The chateau was besieged 
during the Wars of Religion, and was almost lost to the 
family in the reign of Louis XIII, when the Baron 
sided with Gaston d'Orleans against the King. At the 
end of the seventeenth century decay had set in with 
a vengeance, the Du Chatelet family having become 
greatly impoverished. Situated south of the wine- 
growing district of Champagne, Cirey was a hundred 
and forty leagues from Paris, and the only connection 
with the capital in Mme du Chatelet's day was a 
lumbering coach twice a week. The nearest village was 
Vassy, noted for an old manor house in which it was 
said Mary Stuart had stayed. Four leagues to the 
south-west was Joinville, where Mme du Chatelet's 
daughter was in a convent. 

Voltaire arrived at the chateau in September, Emilie 
followed him in November. At that time there were 
only two ladies in the neighbourhood who were likely 
to break in upon their solitude. Mme de Champbonin 
was one. She was a distant connection of Voltaire's, 



An Intimate Friendship 6^ 

and he nicknamed her gros chat. She lived with her 
son at Bar-sur-Aube, four or five leagues away, and 
Voltaire thought of marrying the son to one of his 
nieces. The other was Mme la Comtesse de la Neuville. 
He was delighted to exchange hospitalities with either. 
One of the first letters he wrote from Cirey to Mme 
de Champbonin was to this effect : 

" My amiable Champenoise, why are not all who are 
at Cirey at La Neuville or at your house ? Or why 
are not all at La Neuville and your house at Cirey .'' 
Is it because the unfortunate necessity of having bed 
curtains and window-panes separates such delightful 
people .'' It seems to me that the pleasure of living 
with Mme du Chatelet would be doubled in sharing 
it with you. One does not regret any one else when 
one is with her, and one has need of no other society 
when one enjoys yours ; but to unite all this in one 
would be a most charming life. She counts a great deal 
on being able to pass her time with you and with Mme 
de la Neuville : for it is not to be permitted that three 
people who are such good company should remain at 
home. When you are all three together, the company 
will be paradise on earth." 

The transformation of the castle into a habitation 
had already begun. Voltaire was architect, overseer, 
gardener. In November Emilie came to add her inex- 
haustible energy to the general bustle and confusion. 
Voltaire wrote of her arrival to Mme de Champbonin : 

*' Mme du Chatelet is here, having returned from 
Paris yesterday evening. She came just at the moment 
when I received a letter from her, by which she informed 
me that she would not be comingr so soon. She is 
surrounded by two hundred packages which arrived 



66 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise 

here the same day as she. There are beds without 
curtains, apartments without windows ; china cabinets, 
but no armchairs, charming phaetons, and no horses to 
draw them. 

"Amidst all this disorder, Mme du Chatelet laughs 
and is charming. She arrived in a kind of tumbril, 
bruised and shaken, without having slept, but she is 
well. She asks me to send you a thousand compliments 
for her. We are going to patch the old tapestries. We 
shall look for curtains, and make doors ; everything 
to receive you. I swear, joking apart, you will be very 
comfortable here." 

To Mme de la Neuville he confessed that the divine 
Emilie's methods did not quite accord with his own : 

" She is going to put windows where I have put 
doors," he wrote. " She is changing staircases into 
chimneys and chimneys into staircases. She is going to 
plant lime trees where I proposed to place elms, and 
where I have planted herbs and vegetables she is going 
to make a flower-bed. Besides all this she is doing 
the work of fairies in the house. She has changed 
rags into tapestries, she has found the secret of furnishing 
Cirey out of nothing." 

A struggle then took place between the claims of 
hospitality and the desire to put the house to rights. 
Voltaire insisted on the importance of the first ; Emilie, 
womanlike, was determined to devote herself to the 
second. She was up to the eyes in her work ; she 
arranged, discussed, altered, and instructed by turns. 
She rejoiced in having Voltaire's money to spend on 
adorning her domain, and she meant to adorn it right 
royally. She did not want Mmes de Champbonins and 
de la Neuvilles. She wanted to lord it over her lover, 



An Intimate Friendship 67 

over her builders, her carpenters, her paperhangers and 
upholsterers — indeed, over every being of the opposite 
sex with whom she had anything to do. 

So Voltaire had to sit down and exert his pen on 
her behalf, uttering excuses that had little sincerity, 
promising visits that were never destined to be paid. 
*' She is like love, which comes not when one wants," 
he wrote to gros chat. *' Besides, she could not have 
run off with you to bring you to Cirey because it is 
necessary to have carded wool and to have bed-valances. 
Cirey is not yet in a fit state to receive visitors. It 
astonishes me that even the lady of the house can 
inhabit it. She has been here until the present on 
account of her taste for building. She remains here 
to-day out of sheer necessity. Her teeth are troubling 
her a great deal and your absence still more. That is 
a feeling I share with her." 

Then Mme de.Champbonin herself became impatient, 
and had to be rebuked. She ought to show more 
faith, said Voltaire. Her would-be hostess was occupied 
all day long having wool carded for an extra mattress, 
for were not three beds necessary since there were 
to be three persons ? and she was having large glass 
doors placed where gros chat could pass through them 
without inconvenience on account of her embonpoint^ 
and how could visitors be expected to put up with 
the " ragged state " of Cirey '^. 

At length the first visit was paid to Mme de la 
Neuville, and scarcely had ten days elapsed when it 
was necessary to apologise that a second one had not 
become an accomplished fact : " I curse, Madame, all 
upholsterers, masons, and workmen who hinder Mme 
du Chatelet from going to see you," he explained. The 



68 An Eightecnth^Century Marquise 

little phaeton, light as a feather, drawn by horses as big 
as elephants — so appropriate in a country of contrasts 
— had not rolled towards the Court of Neuville for 
more than a week. Nor was it to journey in that 
direction soon again, for in January Emilie was to be 
seen no more at Cirey. She had returned to Paris 
and to her usual occupations, which were gaiety, 
frivolity, philosophy, and — first of all in her heart — 
mathematics. 

I 



CHAPTER III 

THE MATHEMATICIANS AND THE CAFRS 

THERE have been comparatively few great women 
mathematicians in the world. Hypatia in the 
fourth century was the first ; Mme du Chatelet in the 
eighteenth the second ; shortly after her came Maria 
Agnesi in Italy, and at the close of the century Sophie 
Germain holds the fourth place.^ It would be tiresome 
to discuss their individual merits or compare their 
powers with those of their scientific male contemporaries. 
The woman who seeks to enter a field appropriated 
exclusively by men, suffers from a double disadvantage. 
On the one hand are those who give her the credit of 
her sex, regard her work as marvellous and overpraise 
it ; on the other are those who for the very same cause 
discount it, and do not even accord it the justice it 
deserves. Mme du Chatelet's reputation was sound. 
She was an earnest and indefatigable worker ; she 
helped to spread certain new ideas which were being 
taken up by the French scientists and philosophers of 
the day ; but she did nothing great in the way of 
original thinking, nor could It be said that her con- 
tributions to science emanated solely from herself, be- 
cause in all her work she had the support of one or 
another among the greatest savants on the Continent. 
Voltaire, needless to say, had unbounded faith in her 

' A. Rebi^re, Mathematiques et Mathematiciens . 
69 ^ 



70 An Eightcenth^Century Marquise 

intellectual gifts, and was for ever singing her praises. 
Nay, he protested too much, and, falling into the first- 
named class of judges, laid more stress than was neces- 
sary on the fact that the author of Les Institutions de 
Physique, a work which, he said, " would be an honour 
to our age if it was by one of the principal members 
of the Academies of Europe," was a woman, one, 
moreover, who belonged to the upper and so-called 
idle classes, and who in modesty had concealed her 
name. A dozen years later, after her death, he wrote, 
in 1752, his still more flowery " Eloge Historique " upon 
Mme du Chatelet's translation of Newton. At that 
time these Eloges were greatly in vogue and were 
usually written in a flamboyant style. " Two wonders 
have been performed," he cried : " one that Newton 
was able to write this work, the other that a woman 
could translate and explain it ; " and after setting forth 
its special brilliancy, he went on to ' describe what a 
remarkable person the translator was in every way. 
" Ladies who played with her at the queen's card-table 
were far from suspecting that they were sitting beside the 
commentator of Newton," he wrote ; " she was taken 
for quite an ordinary person. Only occasionally people 
would show their astonishment at the rapidity and 
accuracy with which she could calculate accounts and 
settle difi^erences. When it came to working out a 
combination of figures, it was impossible that the 
philosopher in her should remain hidden. I was present 
one day when she divided nine figures by nine other 
figures, entirely in her head, without aid of any sort, 
and an astonished geometrician was there who could 
not follow what she did." He endeavoured to put all 
the admiration he felt into one phrase, " Jamais femme 



The Mathematicians and the Cafes 71 

ne fut si savante qu'elle, et jamais personne ne merita 
moins qu'on dit d'elle : C'est une femme savante." 

Learned as she was, la docte Emilie must always be 
regarded as far more interesting as a woman than as a 
mathematician. But the importance of her intellectual 
side is very great, because it led her into the society of 
many a clever man besides Voltaire. The little group of 
mathematicians who were her friends included Maupertuis, 
Clairaut, Koenig, and Bernoulli, men who were the im- 
mediate forerunners of the great thinkers of the last 
half of the century — d'Alembert, Diderot, Montesquieu, 
Lagrange, Turgot, Condorcet and many others. 

Maupertuis was the most important among her 
scientific friends. She had known him before she knew 
Voltaire, he was her first teacher, and she corresponded 
with him for many years. When he was anywhere in 
the neighbourhood she was angry if he did not visit her 
every day ; when he was away she waited impatiently 
for his letters. She never seemed to lose faith in his 
capabilities or to be annoyed by his disagreeable manner- 
isms. Voltaire wrote one of his facile verses on their 
intellectual friendship : 

Et le sublime Maupertuis 
Vient 6clipser mes bagatelles. 
Je n'en suis fache, ni surpris ; 
Un esprit vrai doit etre epris 
Pour des verites eternelles.' 

Pierre Louis Moreau de Maupertuis was born at Saint- 
Malo on September 28, 1698. He soon gave signs of 
possessing intelligence of an unusual order. He was the 
kind of prodigy who wanted to know why the wind 

' The sublime Maupertuis has put my trifles in the shade ; I am 
neither angry nor surprised, for the true intelligence must ever feel the 
charm of striving after eternal truth. 



72 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise 

which extinguished a candle fanned the flame of the fire. 
The Maupertuis family was composed of quite ordinary 
people who went to Versailles in 1704, and enjoyed the 
privilege they shared in common with every one else of 
watching royalty dine. Pierre, who was a fair-haired boy 
of six, with bright eyes and a knowing face, was so 
interested in what he saw, that he pushed himself into 
the front rank of the onlookers, and made himself so 
conspicuous that the Duchesse de Bourgogne, then a 
charming young lady of nineteen, insisted on sending for 
him, fed him with sweets, and remarked on his precocious 
intelligence. Maupertuis had the good fortune to be 
educated privately by tutors who laid special stress on 
the study of natural history, mathematics and philosophy. 
In spite of his talents it was many years' before he turned 
them to account. In 171 8 he enlisted in the Grey 
Musketeers, and because his military duties were light 
and peace reigned during the first years of the Regency, 
he threw himself into intellectual occupations and became 
that anomaly, a soldier-philosopher. 

During the winter of 1722 he was in Paris, and joined 
a set of savants and wits. There he met the satirist 
Colle, who said many unpleasant things about him. His 
worst grievance was, perhaps, that Maupertuis had never 
read Moliere, or at least that he told him so ; but there 
were other counts against him. He had not taken up 
the highest sciences, nor learnt geometry until he was 
over thirty, so that of course it was impossible he should 
know a great deal about it. " He was the most unfor- 
tunate individual that ever lived," wrote Colle in his 
Journal. " Devoured by envy and a desire for reputation, 
he did everything and sacrificed everything during his 
life to establish one which did no\ last long, and which 



The Mathematicians and the Cafes 73 

indeed he outlived, although he was not very old when 
he died. He was sixty-two or sixty-three at the most. 
I heard the greatest geometrician say that he only knew 
as much geometry as any good scholar might be acquainted 
with, and that he never discovered anything. . . . He 
was an intriguer, praising himself without ceasing, and 
having his own praises sung by a pack of inferior scrib- 
blers, by a prodigious number of fools, and by women of 
quality whom he persuaded into learning geometry, a 
fashion which lasted two or three years, and at the head 
of which was Mme d'Aiguillon." This was doubtless a 
hit at Mme du Chatelet, who was her friend, and whose 
lessons with Maupertuis began about 1730. The 
Duchesse d'Aiguillon was some years older than Mme 
du Chatelet, and lived until 1772, keeping her intellectual 
tastes untarnished. From being the special friend of 
Montesquieu, she became very intimate with all the 
Encyclopaedists, and was called the philosophers' Sceur du 
pot. She was very ugly when she grew old ; her cheeks 
had fallen in, her nose was awry, her glance wandering, 
but her conversation remained inspired to the last. She 
had much influence with the Princesse de Conti, and 
used it so well that Voltaire wrote her, in May 1734 : 
" I am overcome with gratitude, and thank you in the 
name of all the partisans of Locke and of Newton for 
the kindness with which 'you have awakened the Princesse 
de Conti's interest on behalf of the philosophers in spite 
• of the outcry among the devots^ 

Besides knowing these two influentialwomen, Maupertuis 
was well received at the houses of the Comtesse de 
Caylus, the /Duchesse de Villeroy and Mme de Pont- 
chartrain. He was disliked for his somewhat overbearinpf 
manner, but was clever at keeping the conversational 



74 An Eighteenth-Century Marquise 

ball rolling, his talk being larded with witty sallies. He 
had travelled both in England and Switzerland, visiting 
Bernoulli at Basel in the company of Clairaut ; and his 
trip to Lapland, for the purpose of measuring the length 
of a degree of the meridian within the polar circle, im- 
mensely enhanced his reputation. Having raised the 
question of the oblate figure of the earth, he appealed to 
Louis XV to permit him to make an expedition to the 
polar regions, and this was carried into effect in 1736 in 
company with Clairaut, Le Monnier, Camus and Outhier. 
C0II6 said that he took all the glory of the calculations 
and operations, but that Clairaut did the work. On their 
return Cardinal de Fleury distributed the King's bounty, 
granting to each of the explorers a pension of a hundred 
pistoles and to Maupertuis twenty more. The latter, 
feeling himself but ill-paid, waved the favour aside with 
one of his pompous flourishes, and suggested that it 
should be divided amongst his colleagues. This action 
alienated the great Maurepas, who said he could no 
longer be his friend except in secret. 

Glory was not the only thing that Maupertuis brought 
from Lapland. His reputation for gallantry followed 
him there, and he did such execution among the Lapp 
ladies, whom he praised in every letter, that one of them 
followed him to Paris, and he celebrated her in verses, 
describing how impossible it was to flee love, even when 
Journeying within the polar circle. 

Mme Graffigny told one version of this story in a letter 
to Devaux, in which the name of Maupertuis did not 
appear. " You will not be sorry to hear, my dear friend, 
that our amiable Frenchmen please even in frozen climates, 
and that love is of every country. The secretary of 
Clairaut, one of the voyagers to the pole, made love to a 




MOREAU DE MAUPERTUIS 

Demonstrating the flatness of the earth at the Poles 

{Engraved from a painting by Tourniires) 



75 



The Mathematicians and the Cafes 77 

Lapp lady, promised to marry her, and then departed 
without keeping his word. The young woman has 
just arrived in Paris with her sister, to pursue her faith- 
less lover. They arrived at M. Clairaut's house, who 
lodged them, although he is rather poor. Ue-pouseur ne 
veut ■point epouser^ and the lady did not wish to go home. 
At last Clairaut, who informed Voltaire, told him that he 
had obtained a little pension for her, and was going to 
try to make her enter into a convent to console her. 
All Paris goes to his house to see the Lapp ladies. Ah, 
mon Dieu, how can one be a Laplander ! " 

After his return, Maupertuis posed as a genius and a 
power in the land, and his vanity was tickled by Tournieres, 
who painted him dressed in the clothes he had worn in 
the north, and with one hand resting on the terrestrial 
globe as though he were flattening it at the poles. The 
picture was engraved, and Voltaire embellished it with 
verses : 

Ce globe mal connu, qu'il a su mesurer, 
Devient un monument ou sa gloire se fonde, 
Son sort est de fixer la figure du monde, 
De lui plaire et de I'eclairer. 

Mme du Chatelet was jealous because the picture was 
sent to Voltaire and not to her. " Had it not been for 
the fact that he has it in his power to adorn it [with 
verses], and therefore merits the preference," she wrote, 
" I would certainly have claimed my right to it against 
all the world." 

On their return, in 1737, Maupertuis and Clairaut 
retired to Mont-Valerien in order to work in peace. 
Perhaps they were struck by Voltaire's plan of withdraw- 
ing from the world. Mme du Chatelet poured forth 
indignant protests in her letters because she could not 



78 An Eighteenth'Ccntury Marquise 

see them as often as when they were in town. From 
Cirey she wrote that if she had been in Paris she would 
certainly have come to visit them, " on foot or on horse- 
back, in rain or in sunshine." The lessons in mathematics 
which Clairaut gave her were gathered and printed under 
the title of Elements de Geometrie, 

Clairaut, like Maupertuis, was q, prodigy, but a more 
amiable one. When he was ten years old, he read 
L! Analyse des Infiniment Petits and Le 'Traite des Sections 
Coniques by L'Hopital. At thirteen he sent a treatise 
to the Academie des Sciences, at sixteen he was working 
at his famous book Recherches sur les Courhes a 'Double 
Courhure^ concerning which Voltaire wrote in 1739 to 
Frederick, then Prince Royal, that though it was not 
nearly finished, the beginning appeared to him of great 
value. In return for his praise Clairaut told Voltaire 
that he was convinced he would never rise above medio- 
crity in the sciences, and advised him to devote his time 
to philosophy and poetry. Clairaut's book was published 
two years later, and opened the Academy of Sciences to 
its author before he was of the regulation age, which was 
a very unusual distinction. 

Mme du Chatelet was both pupil and friend to Clairaut ; 
he helped her with her work, and she housed some of 
his scientific instruments at Cirey as an acknowledgment 
of her gratitude. He was not at all averse to combining 
the lighter moods of passion with the serious study of 
mathematics. He was in love with a certain Mme de 
Fourqueux, who was scrupulously virtuous and turned 
a deaf ear to him. Whether he tried to ingratiate himself 
too well with his hostess when he stayed at Cirey is 
not certain ; but Voltaire, who, when he left, wrote to 
Thieriot that one of the best geometers in the world and 



The Mathematicians and the Cafes 79 

one of the most amiable men had gone back to Paris, 
was so jealous of their intimacy that one day, being 
irritated beyond measure, he went so far as to warn 
M. du Chatelet of the flirtation, saying half-sadly, half- 
comically, *' Ma foi. Marquis, this affair requires stern 
handling, and I wash my hands of it altogether ! " 

Longchamp tells a story which bears on this subject 
of an incident, which took place some years later, when 
Mme du Chatelet was revising her Commentary on 
Newton for press. She had plunged anew into science 
with great ardour, and had invited Clairaut to come and 
verify her calculations. The operation took a good deal 
of time. Clairaut visited her every day, and together 
they shut themselves up in her study, in order that they 
might not be interrupted. Having spent the day at 
work, they usually had supper with Voltaire. He had 
been suffering from indigestion for a few days. " One 
evening, when he wanted his supper, he told me to let 
the two savants know," wrote Longchamp. " Mme du 
Chatelet, who was deep in a calculation she wished to 
finish, asked for a quarter of an hour's respite. Voltaire 
agreed, and waited patiently. Half an hour passed and 
nobody came. He sent me up again. I knocked at 
the door and they cried, ' We are coming down.' At 
this reply Voltaire had the supper served and took a 
seat at table waiting for the guests. Nevertheless they 
did not arrive, and the dishes were getting cold. Then 
he became furious, went lightly up the staircase, and 
finding the door was locked he kicked savagely upon it. 
At this noise the work had to cease. The geometricians 
came out and followed Voltaire. They were a little 
abashed. As he came down he said, ' You are of one 
mind to let me die, then ? ' Ordinarily supper was gay 



8o An Eighteenth-Century Marquise 

and took a long time ; that day it was soon over, they 
hardly ate anything, and fixing their eyes on their plates, 
said not a word. M. Clairaut went to bed early, and 
did not come back to the house for some time. At last 
they became friends again. Mme du Chatelet, with her 
usual cleverness, reconciled them. Clairaut returned, the 
revision of the Newtonian commentary was resumed, and 
in future they were at the supper-table with remarkable 

exactitude." 

This tragic story was to have an equally tragic sequel. 
After the scene was over Voltaire retired to his 
room, but he could not rest, as he was still much moved 
by the events of the evening. The following morning 
Mme du Chatelet sent some one to inquire the state of 
his health, and ask him whether he would like her to 
come and have breakfast with him. He sent back a 
message that she would be well received. A moment 
later Emilie came down to him, carrying in her hand a 
superb breakfast-cup of Saxon porcelain which he had 
given her and which she loved to use. The interior of 
the cup and saucer was gilt, outside it was adorned with 
charmingly painted pastoral figures. Voltaire ordered 
Longchamp to fill it with coffee and cream, and then the 
latter withdrew. Mme du Chatelet, with the cup in her 
hand, began discussing the incident of the previous evening, 
saying that Voltaire ought not to have been angry, and 
making excuses which the poet received coldly. She 
came quite near him, and as he moved from his chair 
to offer her a seat, he knocked against her accidentally 
and the valuable cup and saucer were shattered. Emilie 
said what she thought of his clumsiness— in English— 
and hurriedly left the room. Voltaire despatched Long- 
champ on the spot to obtain a new breakfast-set to replace 



The Mathematicians and the Caf^s 8i 

the broken one. It cost him ten louis ; but that was not 
much after all, for Mme du Chatelet accepted the peace- 
offering with a smile. Voltaire had only one thing left 
to say, and he said it so low that she could not hear it. 
Next time he thought she had better have her breakfast 
in her own room before coming to his ! Poor Clairaut 
of course received his share of the blame for this 
unfortunate incident. 

The young geometrician, whose Christian names were 
Alexis Claude, was seven years younger than Emilie. 
He was handsome, gay, fond of music and good living ; 
in fact he had more of the graces of social life than many 
of the savants, and was just the kind of young man to 
attract a woman who swung like a pendulum between the 
passions and the intellect. 

Bossut said of him : " A character gentle and pliant, 
great politeness, and scrupulous care in never wounding 
the self-love of anybody, gave to Clairaut an existence 
and consideration in the great world which talent alone 
would not have obtained for him. Unfortunately for the 
sciences, he gave himself up too much to the general 
desire and rush to know and make much of him. 
Engaged for suppers and evening entertainments, carried 
away by a keen taste for the society of women, and 
wishing to ally pleasure to his ordinary work, he lost 
rest, health, and at length his life at the age of fifty-three, 
although his excellent physical constitution had appeared 
to promise a much longer career." 

Bossut, mathematician and Abb6, who translated Maria 
Agnesi's work on the Infinitesimal Calculus, was the friend 
of Maupertuis as well as of Clairaut. "When he was dying 
Maupertuis was by his bedside. No one knew whether 
the agony was ended. *' Twelve times twelve ? " asked 



82 An Eighteenth'Ccntury Marquise 

Maupertuis in a'distinct voice. " One hundred and forty- 
four " came the automatic answer, as Bossut breathed 
his last. 

Mme du Chatelet owed to Maupertuis not only her 
introduction to Clairaut, but also to Koenig and Jean 
Bernoulli fils^ a member of the well-known family of 
mathematicians. Maupertuis met Koenig in Switzerland, 
and again in Paris, where he was nearly starving. Born 
at Buedingen in 171 2, Samuel Koenig was a follower of 
Leibnitz, and his masters were Bernoulli and Wolff. 
He was friendly with Voltaire and Reaumur, and was a 
member of the Academies of Berlin, of The Hague, and 
of Gottingen, as well as a correspondent of the Paris 
Academie des Sciences. 

He did not begin his lessons at CIrey until 1739, in 
which* year Mme du Chatelet wrote to Prince Frederick, 
that he was coming for the purpose of conducting her 
" in the immense labyrinth where Nature loses herself." 
She was just about to leave off studying physics for some 
time, with the idea of learning geometry. *' I have 
perceived that I have been going a little too fast," she 
added : *' it is necessary to retrace my steps. Geometry 
Is the key which opens all the doors, and I must work 
hard and acquire It." 

Maupertuis, Clairaut, Koenig and Jean Bernoulli fils 
were the four masters who instructed her methodically 
and consecutively. At the close of 1733 and the 
beginning of 1734 her letters to Maupertuis are full of 
requests that he would come and teach her something 
new. " Yesterday I spent the whole evening profiting 
by your lessons. I would like very much to render 
myself worthy of them. I fear, 1 must confess it, to 
lose the good opinion you have expressed about me. I 



The Mathematicians and the Cafes 83 

feel that that would be to pay very dearly for the pleasure 
I take in learning the truth, adorned by all the graces 
you lend to it. I hope that the desire I have of learning 
will to some extent take the place of capability. ... I 
have studied much, and hope you will be a little less 
discontented with me than last time. If you will come 
and judge of it to-morrow, etc, ... I am staying at 
home to-day : come if you can and teach me to raise an 
infinite nome to a given power. ... I spent yesterday 
evening with binomes and trinon^ies. I cannot study any 
more if you do not give me a task, and I have an extreme 
desire for one. I shall not go out to-morrow till six ; 
if you would come to my house at four o'clock, we 
would study for a couple of hours," and so forth and 
so on — an untiring demand for knowledge which no 
amount of hard work seemed able to quell. 

On June 7, 1734, she wrote from Montjeu : " I have 
begun to work at geometry again these days ; you will 
find me precisely where you left me, having forgotten 
nothing, and learnt nothing fresh : and with the same 
desire to make progress worthy of my master. I confess 
to you that I understand nothing of Guisnee ^ alone ; 
and I do not think that, except with you, I could learn 
with pleasure one A — four A. You scatter flowers on 
the path where others only discover thorns. Your 
imagination knows how to embellish the driest facts 
without depriving them of their accuracy and precision. 
I feel how much I should lose if I did not profit by 
the kindness you have shown in deigning to condescend 
to help my weakness, and to teach me such sublime 
truths in an almost jesting manner. I feel that I shall 

* A former master of Maupertuis and author of Traite de V Application 
de I'Algebre a la Geotnetrie (17 15). 



§4 An Eightcenth'Ccntury Marquise 

always have over you, the advantage of having studied 
with the most amiable, and at the same time the most 
profound mathematician in the world," — a letter which 
throws light on the subtle relationship between Maupertuis 
and his pupil. At this time Maupertuis was living in 
the Rue Saint-Anne, near the Nouvelles-Catholiques, and 
when they were both in town they met nearly every day. 
If a day passed without a lesson, the indefatigable pupil 
wanted to know the reason why, and had no scruples 
about hunting up her dilatory professor wherever she 
thought he might be found, even in his most sacred 
haunt, the Cafe Gradot on the Quai de Louvre, where 
Maupertuis had his own little circle of intimates, and 
where he was usually to be found in the middle of the 
day and after the theatre at night. 

" Yesterday and to-day I went to look for you at 
Gradot's," she wrote at the beginning of 1734, " but I 
did not hear you spoken of. . . ." " Please sup with 
me to-morrow. I will come and fetch you from Gradot's 
when the Opera is over, if you will wait for me. It is 
necessary for me to see you. I am sorry to begin so late, 
but I am engaged for the Opera." When she rushed in 
from Creteil, where her mother lay ill, to spend a few 
hours in Paris, she arranged to meet him at the same 
cafe, and if she turned up there and found he was gone 
she heaped reproaches and recriminations on his head. 
That was her way, and it was not only Maupertuis who 
knew it. 

The cafes were a comparatively new institution in 
Paris at this time, and had taken such a hold on the 
imagination of the people that there were already several 
hundreds of them. Their history dates from the close 
of the seventeenth century. Coifee was then a new 



The Mathematicians and the Cafes 85 

drink, and cost about eighty francs a pound. It was 
introduced to the nobles of the court, of Louis XIV by 
the Turkish Ambassador. The doctors were horrified, 
and spread the news that it was a deadly poison. For 
a time this aroused a violent desire among smart 
people to drink it and die, if necessary, trying to be 
fashionable. However, when nothing serious happened, 
the medical men were forced to moderate their tone. But 
for a long time the drink was not popular. Mme de 
Sevigne did not like it, but in Mme du Chatelet's day 
Voltaire and Fontenelle did, and Delille made a little 
verse on the subject : 

II est une liqueur au poete plus chere, 
Qui manquait a Virgile et qu'adorait Voltaire ; 
C'est toi, divin caf6 ! 

It was Voltaire who was responsible, too, for Mme de 
Sevigne's distaste being remembered. At one time she 
had run down Racine, whom she compared to her favourite 
Corneille to the great disadvantage of the former. When 
she saw Phedre and Athalie she entirely changed her 
opinion, but it was too late. What Mme de Sevigne had 
said was on record and could not be wiped out by a 
mere change of mood. Four years after she had belittled 
Racine, she also remarked that coffee was a horrible 
drink and would soon disappear from fashionable dinner- 
tables. Voltaire, speaking of Racine, combined Mme 
de Sevigne's two little phrases, and said she had judged 
him as she did coffee, thinking that neither would last. 
It was left to La Harpe to crystallise the hon mot often 
attributed to the queen of letter-writers in its final form, 
" Racine passera comme le cafe." 

Not only did the drink itself stay in fashion, but it 
quickly gave rise to the institution of special houses 



86 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise 

where it was drunk. The Turkish Ambassador's ide?, 
was followed up by an Armenian of the name of Pascal, 
who opened a public cafe not far from the Abbaye de 
Saint-Germain des Pres. It had only moderate success, 
but two that followed became the rage. One was owned 
by a Syrian called d' Alep, the other by a Sicilian of the 
name of Procope. In 1720, says Michelet, Paris became 
one great cafe. Three hundred were open a la causerie. 
Every apothecary sold coffee and served it at his counter. 
Even the convents hastened to take part in this lucrative 
trade. France never chatted more freely or more gaily. 
The arrival of coffee was the cause of a happy revolution 
and of new customs. The effect was marvellous ; it was 
not then neutralised or weakened by smoking. Men 
took snuff, but smoked little. 

The cabaret was superseded, " the ignoble cabaret 
where, under Louis XIV, youth was tossed about betwixt 
barrels and women." Fewer drunken songs polluted 
the night. Fewer young nobles were found lying in the 
gutter. The smart talking-shop, which was more a salon 
than a shop, changed and ennobled manners. The day 
of the cafe was that of temperance and virtue ; the reign 
of the intellect had begun. 

The most interesting historically is the Cafe Procope, 
which was once a fine bathing establishment, where there 
were hot towels and meals and drinks for the bathers, 
where a man could sip sherbet and hear Italian music. 
It was originally founded by the Sicilian Procope Cultelli, 
who came to Paris in the suite of Catherine de Medicis. 
His descendant, FranQois Procope, at first peddled his 
liquor in the open air, then he had a coffee-stall, then 
a shop, and at last a spacious divan, where in salons, 
elegantly decorated, with mirrors and gilt mouldings, the 



The Mathematicians and the Cafes 87 

most celebrated people met to talk and take refreshments. 
Fine ladies stopped their carriages at the cafe door, and 
waited there till they had finished drinking a cup of 
coffee served on a silver saucer. 

In the time of Mme du Chatelet and Voltaire the 
Cafe Procope, the Cafe Gradot and the Cafe Laurent 
were the most famous of all, the first-named gaining 
a reputation throughout Europe. Opposite the Palais- 
Royal was the Cafe de la Regence, where chess and 
draughts were played. It was frequented by Voltaire, 
the Due de Richelieu, the Marechal de Saxe, Buffon, 
Fontenelle, and many others among the famous men of 
the day. The Cafe d'Alep, in the Rue Saint-Andre 
des Arts, was the first to sell ices and have marble- 
topped tables. Very soon the other places imitated these 
luxuries. At the Cafe Buci, which opened soon after the 
Procope, the Gazette and the Mercure de France were to 
be had for the asking, and tobacco was given free with 
the coffee. Strong drinks could also be obtained. But 
the raison d'etre of the cafe was none of these things. 
They were rendezvous first and foremost. Writers, 
critics, dilettantes, professors, pseudo-politicians, financiers, 
soldiers, philosophers, comedians and dancers — every 
kind of individual, in short, brought his intellectual wares 
and threw them into a common stockpot of wit and good 
fellowship. The cafe was a neutral ground upon which 
men of totally different habits and tastes might meet 
without clashing. The intrigues and follies, the fashions 
and affairs of everyone who was anyone, and many who 
were nobodies, were discussed and pulled to pieces, 
exaggerated and perverted until a man might hear a 
tale of himself so disguised that he would think it 
concerned his neighbour. The airy nothings of yesterday 

6 



88 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise 

about to become great happenings of the morrow figured 
in process of materialisation in the gossip of the cafe. 
Songs, verses and bon mots were coined in profuse plenty ; 
eulogies, satires and scandal were born and went forth 
from their cradle in the cafes to do their good or evil 
work, to lift up to fame or perhaps condemn to oblivion 
some struggling beggar of an author, an actor, or a 
musician. Mad visions were dreamt there of Utopias 
where all men should be free, great schemes were planned 
whereby all men should become rich, and men sang and 
versified, quarrelled and fought and swore everlasting 
friendship, and laughed in the face of fickle fortune, and 
grasped one another's hands when luck was in sight, and 
in their emotional French way went further and wept 
on one another's shoulders in their grief, or kissed and 
embraced in an ecstasy of happiness ; in short, whatever 
life had to offer them, the battle-field where they discussed 
it, to curse or to bless it, and where they tore it in a 
thousand shreds with their babbling tongues, was the 
common meeting-place — their coffee-house. 

Each cafe had its distinctive note. The Gradot had 
a strong sprinkling of scientific men, of astronomers and 
geometricians, of academicians and serious writers ; the 
Procope, which was situated in the Rue des Fosses- 
Saint-Germain, now Rue de I'Ancienne Comedie, opposite 
the old Comedie Fran9aise, was frequented by theatrical 
people of every grade and every shade, from actors and 
dancers to dramatists and dramatic critics. The house 
kept by the Veuve Laurent had a leaning towards art ; 
poets, musicians, painters, and amateurs in belles-lettres 
met there. 

According to La Beaumelle ^ the Procope was the 
^ Vie de Maupertuis. 



The Mathematicians and the Cafes 89 

favourite resort of Maupertuis before the death of 
Lamotte in 1731, but Colle declared that he met 
Maupertuis and Lamotte most frequently at the Gradot, 
and Mme du Chatelet's letters seem to confirm this state- 
ment. Perhaps he frequented both. If any one grew 
tired of the Procope he had but to take a few steps into 
the Rue Dauphine to visit the Laurent ; and if the pro- 
prietor did not show him enough politeness there, he had 
only to cross the water to the Quai de Louvre and find 
himself at the Gradot. Procope's son, who was studying 
medicine, but preferred versemaking and writing plays, 
composed a drinking-song which sounds the note of 
friendship for all alike : 

Buvons, amis de ce vin frais, 

Remplissons tous nos verres ; 
De la grandeur les vains attraits 

Sont pour nous des chimeres ; 
Buvons, buvons, tous a longs traits, 
Buvons en freres. 

Wherever he went Maupertuis was a conspicuous 
figure, in a fantastic coat and a curious short wig which 
drew all eyes upon him. His master, the great Nicole, 
also used the Gradot ; and Saurin, who having been a 
Protestant minister in Switzerland, bartered his faith 
when he came to France for fifteen hundred livres a 
year. Saurin was accused of having plundered churches, 
but nothing would have been proved against him and this 
unenviable reputation might have died out had he not 
confessed his guilt in his own letters. Saurin quarrelled 
fiercely with J. B. Rousseau, but that was at the Cafe 
Laurent. At the Gradot was La Faye, of whom Duclos 
said he was a very amiable man. He had a considerable 
fortune, a good house, and he kept good company. His 
brother had been a captain of the Guards, and his chief 



90 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise 

claims to interest were the facts that he had lost a leg in 
battle and that he possessed a splendid Hbrary. Voltaire 
made a little verse about him : 

II a reuni le merite 
Et d'Horace et de Pollion, 
Tantot protegeant ApoUon 
Et tantot chantant a sa suite. 

There was Melon, the economist and author of the 
Essai politique sur le Commerce^ of which treatise Voltaire 
wrote that it was " the work of a man of wit, of a citizen 
and a philosopher." Melon had been an inspector- 
general of farms at Bordeaux, and tlien clerk to Cardinal 
Dubois. He was a friend of Maupertuis, and when he 
died, in January 1738, Mme du Chatelet wrote to the 
mathematician to condole with him on his loss. Her 
grief was sincere, she said. " A man who was your friend 
must have had merit." And again, " 1 regret him as 
one of your friends and as a worthy man, for the two 
titles cannot be separated." She knew his book very 
well, and went on to generalise that with so many fools 
about it was very sad that death should select the wise. 
The Abbe de Pons was " less a man than a dwarf," said 
the Abbe Denys, who wished to prevent him being elected 
Canon of Caumont ; the " singularity of his exterior will 
surprise and may scandalise the weak." To which Pons 
replied lustily, " An honest man must never be hurt 
by reproaches which have only for their object physical 
faults or infirmities, since such failings do not soil the 
soul." Melon said of him that he had a fine face, and 
an extremely prepossessing countenance which bore the 
stamp of candour ; in fact he was a pleasant humpback. 
He was, moreover, a staunch partisan and faithful to 
his leader Lamotte. The latter's fables had been much 



The Mathematicians and the Cafes 91 

applauded when they were read at the assemblies of the 
Academy ; but no sooner were they printed than they 
had hardly any other admirer than the Abbe de Pons, 
who insisted that the public was wrong. One day he 
arrived at the Cafe Gradot in an excited state and very 
angry because his six-year-old nephew, to whom he had 
given two fables to learn by heart, one by La Fontaine, 
the other by Lamotte, learnt the former without 
the slightest difficulty, but could not remember a word 
of the other. This did not convince the Abbe that he 
was wrong ; it only seemed to him to foreshadow 
execrable taste on his nephew's part. 

At the Gradot the dispute on the Ancients and 
Moderns was carried on with great vigour. The Abbe 
de Pons enrolled himself in the ranks of the Moderns, 
led by Lamotte, who had renewed the struggle begun by 
Boisrobert and continued by Desmarets de Saint-Sorlin, 
Fontenelle, and Charles Perrault. The latter had ridiculed 
Homer's heroes, and, whilst not denying the genius of 
Horace, criticised his work. He maintained against all 
comers that the " si^cle de Louis " equalled or even 
surpassed the centuries of Pericles and Augustus, 
Fontenelle, in his Digression sur les Anciens ei les 
ModerneSj also took up the cudgels in defence of the 
moderns. There was much debating. Their ideas were 
endorsed by many of the wits of the early eighteenth 
century, Mme de Lambert, I'Abbe Dubos, the historian, 
diplomatist, and future Secretary of the French Academy, 
who was followed by Marivaux, (who laughed at both 
sides), Maupertuis, Montesquieu, BufFon and Duclos. 
Themiseul de Saint-Hyacinthe ridiculed the champions 
of the ancients, not the ancients themselves ; but the two 
warmest disputants of all were perhaps Lamotte and 



92 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise 

Mme Dacier — the same learned woman to whose classical 
knowledge Voltaire had compared that of his beloved 
Emilie. 

Lamotte wrote his Discours sur Homere^ his greatest 
weapon being an abridged Iliad, from which he had 
deleted all that seemed to him superfluous. This challenge 
he sent to Mme Dacier. She replied to his Discours 
with her Des Causes de la Corruption du Gout. Voisenon 
thought that the dispute did her no honour. " She 
fought," he said, " with the roughness of a savant. 
Lamotte replied with the elegance and graces of a 
charming woman." 

Verses on the subject appeared written in chalk on 
the door of the Academy, composed in the style of 
Corneille's verse on Cardinal de Richelieu : 

Lamotte et la Dacier, avec un zele €gal, 
Se battent pour Homere et n'y gagneront rien : 
L'une I'entend trop bien pour en dire du mal, 
L'autre I'entend trop peu pour en dire du bien.' 

The quarrel grew fast and furious. Fenelon was 
drawn into it. Lamotte appealed to him only to obtain 
the response, " I would much rather see you a new 
Homer, whom posterity would translate, than see you 
translate Homer." Ga9on defied Lamotte in Horner e 
Venge^ saying various cutting things, and Lamotte's 
friends begged him to reply. The Abbe de Pons, who 
was furious on his chief's account, answered for him with 
a burning pen, besides supporting him in shrill accents 
at the Cafe Gradot, where no one contradicted him. 

At length peace was declared. Valincourt, who was 

* Lamotte and La Dacier are fighting about Homer with equal zeal, but 
they gain nothing. The one understands him too well to say bad of 
him. The other understands him too little to say good. 




MADAME DACIER 
A spirited admirer of Homer, who opposed Lamotte in the dispute concerning 
Ancients v. Modems. Voltaire compared jNIme du Chatelet's knowledge of Latin 
favourably with hers. 



93 



The Mathematicians and the Cafes 95 

a friend to both parties, acted as mediator and brought 
about a reconciliation. He knew so well how to 
mollify the terrible and stormy Mme Dacier that he 
persuaded her to meet her opponent at supper. " M. de 
Valincourt introduced me to M. and Mme Dacier," 
wrote Mme de Staal in her Memoirs ; "he asked 
me to be present at a repast which he gave to reunite 
the ancients and the moderns. Lamotte at the head 
of the latter, keenly attacked by Mme Dacier, had 
replied politely but with force. Their combat, which 
for a long time had amused the public, ceased by the 
intervention of M. de Valincourt, their mutual friend ; 
after having negotiated peace between them, he confirmed 
the solemn treaty at this assembly, to which the chiefs 
of both parties were convoked. I represented neutrality. 
We drank the health of Homer, and all went well." 

When Lamotte died, Maupertuis became the chief of 
the circle at the Gradot, which he kept alive by sheer wit 
and a gift for repartee. 

At the Laurent Lamotte was in the thick of the couplet 
war in which J. B. Rousseau and Saurin played con- 
spicuous parts. Danchet the despised poet, Crebillon, 
La Faye, Gresset, and Freron joined in the altercation ; 
also Roi, who had a talent for inventing ballets, Roche- 
brune, who composed songs, and Boindin, who loved noise, 
more especially the noise he made himself, and who was 
a charming talker, although he insisted on contradicting 
every one. Nowhere were couplets, epigrams, chansons, 
maxims, and such-like airy trifles more the vogue. 
Voltaire described it as a school of wit where licence had 
much sway. J. B. Rousseau, in his usual unamiable 
manner, made satirical verses against most of those who 
frequented the cafe. Danchet replied in kind, Lamotte 



96 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise 

answered in his " Ode sur le M6rite Personnel," which 
referred in unmistakable terms to some of Rousseau's 
less praiseworthy characteristics, an effort which was much 
applauded and caused Rousseau much despair. Pecour, 
the dancing-master, used a more material weapon, and 
shook his stick in the delinquent's face. Autreau, another 
wit, whose poetry was bad enough to be suppressed even 
under such provocation, went a step further than Lamotte, 
and wrote an histoire scandaleuse of Rousseau's life. It 
was to be sung at the victim's door in the Pont Neuf 
by a dozen blind men ; but Lamotte, who was gentle 
in spirit and had a reputation for courtesy and good 
feeling, prevented this culminating act of vituperation ; 
and so for a time the couplet war subsided, although 
Fontenelle, Saurin and Boindin were strongly against 
Lamotte's conciliatory attitude. The reconciliation was 
obviously forced, and came to an end when Lamotte 
was elected to the Academy and Rousseau was refused 
a place. Then Rousseau broke out once more into 
stinging couplets, slashing Lamotte, Saurin, Boindin, La 
Faye, and all his former friends. 

The verse dealing with the last-named gentleman 
contained an aspersion on the lady whom he was about 
to marry, unfortunately for its author. This time a stick 
did its legitimate work, and La Faye managed to get 
twenty strokes into the face of the misguided Rousseau, 
who fled before him into the Palais-Royal, where he 
purposely took refuge, with the intention of informing 
against his assailant for beating him on royal premises. 
La Faye returned the compliment by informing against 
Rousseau as the author of infamous libels ; and Saurin 
took summary measures to eject the offender from the 
Cafe Laurent, whither, it is believed, he never returned. 




HOUDART DE LAMOTTE 



Frequenter of cates, courts and salons, who took part against J. B. Rousseau in the 
couplet war and against Mme Dacier in the dispute of Ancients v. Modems. 



97 



The Mathematicians and the Cafes 99 

But the affair did not end there : Saurin was thrown 
into the Chatelet and presently released, and Rousseau was 
sent into exile. His master, the forgiving Baron de 
Breteuil, who was amongst his protectors, did his best 
to obtain his recall. Rousseau refused the privilege of 
returning to France, and wrote to Mme du Chatelet's 
father in the proudest terms : ^' I love France well, but 
I love my honour and truth still better." He was away 
for twenty years, and returned at length broken in health, 
dying in 1741 a disappointed man. His last words 
were a sacred oath that he was innocent. Ten years 
later a sensation was caused when the will of Boindin 
was read, in which he stated that Rousseau had never 
composed the couplets which had been the cause of his 
exile, and that they had been concocted by a jeweller, 
Malafer, by Saurin and Lamotte. There was not the 
faintest evidence of this being the truth, and Voltaire 
contradicted it. 

The Cafe Procope dealt in quarrels of quite a different 
kind. Many of them began with Saint-Foix, the 
dramatist and musketeer, who had won for himself the 
double wreath of glory in war and in letters. He was 
a restless, captious kind of individual, who rejoiced in 
duelling and was always willing to go three parts of 
the way to a dispute. In strange contrast to this aggres- 
sive temperament, he composed fairy-like plays ; and 
Voisenon, who also frequented the Procope, described 
him as " something like an inkhorn which scattered rose- 
water." One day, when Saint-Foix was in his usually 
hostile mood, one of the king's guards walked into 
the cafe, and with a swagger demanded a cup of coffee 
and a roll for his dinner. 

*' What a sorry repast ! " remarked Saint-Foix. 



loo An Eighteenth'-Century Marquise 

The soldier took no notice. 

Saint-Foix, appearing preoccupied and bored, repeated 
his remark again and again, each time in a louder tone : 
" A sorry repast ; a sorry repast ! " 

At length the soldier grew angry and plainly com- 
manded him to be silent ; but Saint-Foix continued until 
his refrain became unbearable, and the soldier lost his 
temper, drew his sword, dl present took sides, and out 
they rushed to the nearest square, where a sharp fight 
ensued. Saint-Foix was wounded, and his opponent, 
feehng that he had received satisfaction, expressed himself 
in courteous terms to that effect. 

" If you had killed me," remarked the imperturbable 
Saint-Foix, *' I should have died with my opinion un- 
altered. A cup of coffee and a roll make but a sorry 
dinner." 

The soldier was about to renew the fight, when some 
guards arrived on the scene and arrested the combatants. 
An explanation ensued, and to the last Saint-Foix main- 
tained that he did not see why the king's guard should 
have taken exception to so obvious a truth as that he 
was about to partake of a very sorry repast. The affair 
ended in general laughter, but it nevertheless had its 
pathetic side. For at the Cafe Procope, many Academi- 
cians, many struggling dramatists and broken-down 
actors, many an angry poet raving against comedians 
who refused to present his play, and many an aspirant 
for literary fame who was to starve perhaps before he 
won it, munched rolls in silence and spun out the single 
cup of coffee they could pay for in the fear that their 
next meal might be even less appetising. 

The Abbe Pellegrin was one of the impecunious. 
One day, when this author of tragedies that were hissed 



The Mathematicians and the Caf^s loi 

and verses that he could turn out at pleasure by the yard 
was exerting his wits to get a loan from the wary claqueur^ 
Rochette de la Morli^re, a new-comer entered the caf6 
and began complaining that he was going to be married 
and had no epithalamium for his wedding. Pellegrin 
hastened to offer one of his own composition. A deal 
was soon arranged, and the price agreed upon was 
twenty sous a verse. The Abbe disappeared. The 
bridegroom was presently accosted by a stranger, who 
began a conversation on various subjects, and suddenly 
making an emphatic gesture said, " By the by, my 
friend, what price are you paying Pellegrin .? " '* Twenty 
sous a verse." " H'm ! " " Is that too dear } " " No " 
— doubtfully — "not if you fixed the length of the poem." 
*' I never thought of doing that." ** When is he to bring 
your epithalamium ? " " To-morrow morning." " To- 
morrow morning ! " cried the stranger. " Why, you 
must be rolling in money ! " " What do you mean ? " 
" That you will have to pay for at least a thousand 
verses." " Oh, what a fraud ! " exclaimed the bride- 
groom, and rushed off to find Pellegrin in his attic. The 
versifier had just completed his hundredth verse. 

It was at the Procope that Piron, Diderot, Fontenelle, 
and the others discussed literature, politics, philosophy, 
and religion, and invented a strange vocabulary of ex- 
pressions. They called religion " Javotte," the soul was 
" Margot," the Almighty was referred to as " M. de 
r£tre." Crebillon, La Tour, Carle Vanloo, Marivaux, 
Rameau, Desfontaines, Freron and Piron formed a body 
of journalists of whom Piron was the chief. He was a 
sort of Hercules, with bushy hair, half-closed eyes, a 
face not unkindly, but the corners of his mouth turned 
up in a malicious smile. He was well dressed and proud 



I02 An Eightecnth'Century Marquise 

of his elegance, but he always had something of a for- 
saken and tragic air. '' It's surprising," said Procope 
of him, " that such a gay spirit should lodge in such a 
mournful abode." His poetical nature warred constantly 
against his clownish nature — and so he wrote tragedies. 
Grimm said of him : " He was a machine that gave 
out sallies, sparks, and epigrams. In examining him 
closely one saw that his shafts clashed and collided in 
his head, went off like crackers, and rushed helter-skelter 
by dozens to his lips. In a combat of tongues he was 
the strongest athlete that ever existed. His repartee 
was always more terrible even than his attack. That 
was why M. Voltaire always dreaded a conflict with 
Piron." 

One of their passages at arms — they had any number 
— was played out at the Procope in later years, and 
concerned Voltaire's play S emir amis. Longchamp tells 
the story. 

When Semiramis was played in Paris for the first 
time, Voltaire was in a fever of anxiety to know how 
the tragedy would be received. The author's rivals, 
jealous of his success, had arranged a strong party to 
bring about the downfall of the piece, led by Piron, 
and composed of soldats de Corbulon^ as Voltaire called 
Crebillon's partisans. To counterbalance this state of 
affairs Voltaire distributed about four hundred tickets 
to acquaintances and friends, all of them people " capables 
de bien claquer et a propos," as Longchamp declared. 
The leaders of the party in his favour were Thieriot, 
Lambert, the author, the Abbe de La Mare, Chevalier 
de Mouhy, Dumolard, who accompanied Voltaire to 
Berlin on one occasion, and the Chevalier de la Morliere, 
who was the chef de claque^ and had much influence in 



The Mathematicians and the Cafes 103 

the pit. Longchamp was given a number of tickets 
to distribute, and doled them out to the right people. 
On the day of the performance both parties arrived in 
full force. The chief parts in the play were acted by 
Mile Dumesnil and Lekain. 

Voltaire desired to hear an impartial criticism of his 
play, and betook himself to the Cafe Procope ; which, 
says Longchamp, was called the Antre de Procope, or 
Procope's Den, because it was very dark even in the 
middle of the day, and at night was very badly lit, and 
because lean and wan poets were often seen there wearing 
the air of ghosts. 

" In this cafe," continued Longchamp, *' which is 
opposite the Comedie-Fran^aise, the tribunal of so- 
called Aristarques was held for over sixty years, which 
sat in final judgment upon plays, dramatists and actors. 
M. de Voltaire wished to appear at the sitting, but 
disguised and entirely incognito. After leaving the 
theatres the judges opened in the cafe what they called 
their grand session. On the day of the second representa- 
tion of Semiramis Voltaire borrowed the dress of a priest, 
wore a cassock and long cloak, black stockings, girdle, 
bands, and even carried a breviary. Nothing was wanting 
to his disguise. He placed a full wig on his head, 
without powder and badly dressed, which covered more 
than half his cheeks, and left little more visible than 
the tip of a long nose. The wig was crowned by a 
large three-cornered hat. 

" In this get-up the author of Semiramis went on foot 
to the Cafe de Procope, where he crouched in a corner to 
await the end of the show, having ordered a bavaroise^ 
a roll, and the Gazette. Before long the occupants of 
the pit and the usual cafe customers arrived. They 



I04 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise 

belonged to all parties. They soon began to discuss 
the new tragedy. Partisans and adversaries pleaded their 
cause warmly and adduced their reasons. Some who 
were impartial said what they thought and recited some 
of the fine verses. All this time, Voltaire, his glasses 
on his nose, his head bent over his Gazette^ pretended 
to be reading, but in reality was listening to the dis- 
cussion. He profited by some of the more reasonable 
observations, but suffered much from the absurd remarks 
that were made and which he had no power to contradict. 
This put him in a bad temper. Thus for an hour and 
a half he had the courage and patience to hear Semiramis 
jeered at and discussed, without saying a word himself. 
At length all the pretentious arbitrators of the fame of 
authors withdrew without having converted each other. 
M. de Voltaire went out also, took a cab in the Rue 
Mazarine, and reached home at eleven o'clock." Long- 
champ was terrified to see him appear in his strange 
disguise, and took him for a spectre or the shade of 
Ninus out of his own play. 



CHAPTER IV 

THE SALONS AND A SUPPER PARTY 

THE men met at the cafes and the women flocked 
to the salons. These centres of wit and gossip, 
where the personal note was never lacking, had blossomed 
in the first half of the seventeenth century, had faded 
somewhat in brilliancy towards the close of it, and at 
the time when Mme du Chatelet left Paris to bury 
herself with her kindred spirit at Cirey, had taken a 
new lease of life which was to make them more popular 
than ever before. The divine Emilie did as others did 
when she was in Paris, but she did not become famous 
in the capital as a saloniere^ nor was she one of the 
favourite guests at the receptions of her friends. She 
was fond of gaiety, ever ready to join in supper-parties, 
to go to the opera, to shine at balls, to drive in the Park, 
to visit people and to receive her friends in return, but 
she lacked the gifts and qualities essential to the atmo- 
sphere of the salon proper. She could not keep the 
conversational ball rolling in the light and airy spirit 
peculiar to French wits. She disdained the affectations 
and mannerisms which were the fashion. She knew 
nothing of drawing out the accomplishments of others 
and merging her own personality in theirs. She was, 
in short, too much wanting in adaptability to keep her 
intellect in tune with the general trend of talk, and 

was a discordant factor, blundering like an intrusive 

los 



io6 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise 

beetle in a spider's web through the delicate fabric of 
this particular form of social gathering. Emilie's thoughts 
were too large and unconventional to match the neat 
mosaic pattern of salon conversation. She was happier 
at Court. But she belonged to the circles all the same 
in the guise of a semi-stranger, and entered them in 
the wake of Voltaire. 

Voltaire, although not very fond of salons himself, 
found it difficult to escape them all. One of the brightest 
of those which opened in the early years of the eighteenth 
century was held at the Hotel de Sully. Every quali- 
fication that a salon should have was to be found there. 
It was celebrated for wit, rank, culture, good manners, 
good taste, learning that was not pedantic, literature that 
was more than talented, and a certain freedom of speech 
which was never dissociated from perfect courtesy. 
Mme de Villars was ^there and Voltaire was her protege, 
Chaulieu belonged to it and he was the protege of Mme 
du Maine. Mme de Flamarens, the beautiful, the 
witty, the virtuous, was a bright particular star. Voltaire 
wrote a verse to her when she burnt her muff because 
it was out of fashion, and it was inscribed on the urn 
which held its ashes : 

Je fus manchon, je suis cendre legere; 
Flamarens me brula, je I'ai pu meriter, 
Et Ton doit cesser d'exister 
Ouand on commence a. lui deplaire.^ 

That was quite in the spirit of salon airs and graces. 
Fontenelle was there, of course. He went everywhere. 
So did Caumartin, as long as it was select enough. 

* Once I was a muff, now I am nothing but ashes : 
Flamarens burnt me, perhaps I deserved it — 
One should cease to exist the moment one displeases her. 



The Salons and a Supper Party 107 

Voltaire was as much at home as any one, and worked 
at the Henriade as a safeguard against too much frivolity. 
President Renault, and the Comte d'Argenson, who 
always had a word to say about every one and every- 
thing, were frequent guests, as well as Mme de Gontaut, 
who was thought to be like Cleopatra, stung by an asp.' 
Coming one day from the Due de Sully's house, 
Voltaire was set upon and beaten by the lackeys of the 
Chevalier de Rohan, and when a few months later he 
asked to be allowed to revenge the insult at the sword's 
point, he was clapped into the Bastille— that was for 
the second time. 

The Marechale d'Anville was also famed for her salon, 
which was one of the first where the new philosophy 
had its birth, and Voltaire was never far from its cradle. 
The prettiest salon of the day was the Societe du Temple. 
The room was light, decorated with mirrors and white 
wainscoting and woodwork. The curtains were of rose- 
pmk silk. The Comtesse de Boufflers, mistress of the 
Prince de Conti, was its presiding genius, and its aims 
and ends were more luxurious than serious, appealing 
rather to the tastes and habits of the divine Emilie in 
her lighter moods than to those of the poet-philosopher. 

The Palais-Royal was open to intimates at all times, 
and very gay were the gatherings there. All the 
Regent's friends were welcome : the Marquise de Polignac, 
the Baronne de Talleyrand, the famous Mme de 
Luxembourg, who went everywhere ; the Marquise de 
Fleury, the Comtesse de Boufflers, the Beauvau-Craons 
when they were in Paris ; Mme de Blot, who was quite 
unresponsive to the Duke's advances'; and Fontenelle, 
whom the Regent admired so much that one day he 
said to him, " M. de Fontenelle, would you like to live 

7 



io8 An Eighteenth.Century Marquise 

in the Palais-Royal? A man who has written the 
Pluralite des Mondes ought to live in a palace." " Prince," 
replied the poet, "the wise man thinks little of position, 
and does not care for changes ; but since you are so 
pressing I will come and live at the Palais-Royal and 
bring my arms and baggage to-morrow— that is to say, 
my slippers and my nightcap." In gratitude for the 
favours showered upon him, Fontenelle gave the Regent 
his Elements de la Geometrk de VInfint, remarking as he 
did so, " There are only seven or eight of the geometri- 
cians in Europe who understand my book, and I assure 
you I am not one of them." 

Fontenelle had hundreds of friends beside the Regent, 
and was especially made much of by all the salonures. 
At this time there was a kind of hereditary succession 
of hostesses. Mme de Lambert was one of the most 
important and most cultured. President Renault said 
it was necessary to be in her salon to get into the French 
Academy. " On one day of the week," he continued, 
"people dine there, and the afternoon is spent in all 
kinds of academic conferences, but in the evening the 
entertainment as well as the actors change. Mme de 
Lambert gives supper to a more gallant company. She 
then delights in receiving the people who are agreeable 
to her. Her manner does not change on this account. 
She preaches belle galanterie to those who prefer it.^ I 
belong to both schools. I dogmatise in the morning 
and sing songs at night." 

It was concerning these famous Tuesday meetings 
that the Duchesse du Maine wrote a letter to Lamotte 
which almost rivals in style those of Mme de Sevigne. 
She had been roused to anger because Mme de Staal 
had read aloud before the Tuesday gathering part of a 



The Salons and a Supper Party 109 

letter she had written. Lamotte, however, reassured 
her as to its reception and she wrote to thank him : 

"O Tuesday, deserving of respect, O imposing 
Tuesday, Tuesday more dreaded by me than all the 
other days of the week ! Tuesday which has witnessed 
so many times the triumph of the Fontenelle, the 
Lamotte, the Mairan, and the Mongault. Tuesday on 
which the amiable Abbe de Bragelonne was introduced, 
and, still more, Tuesday over which Mme de Lambert 
presides. I received with extreme gratitude the letter 
you had the kindness to write me. You changed my 
dread into affection, and I find you more agreeable 
than the most delightful of Shrove Tuesdays. But one 
thing is still wanting for my glory — it is to be received 
at your august senate. You wish to exclude me in the 
quality of Princess, but could I not be admitted simply 
as Bergere ? ^ Then, indeed, I could say that Tuesday 
was the most perfect day of my life." 

Needless to say she worked her will, to the temporary 
discomfort of the Academicians. 

Mme de Tencin frequented Mme de Lambert's house 
in order to obtain the right of succession. In this she 
did very well for herself, because Mme de Lambert 
was of high rank and distinction and unimpeachable 
reputation, whereas Mme de Tencin was bourgeoise and 
one of the worst offenders against morality ; a type of 
eighteenth-century laxity. "After the death of Mme 
de Lambert," said Trublet, Fontenelle's biographer, 
"the Tuesday was at Mme de Tencin's, but passing 
from the Rue Richelieu to the Rue Saint-Honore the 
Tuesday was remodelled." Mme de Geoffrin was Mme 
de Tencin's successor. 

' Her nom de Parnasse, used chiefly by her friend Sainte-Aulaire, 



no An Eightecnth'Century Marquise 

" So long as Mme de Tencin lived," wrote Marmontel, 
" Mme GeofFrin was in the habit of going to see her, 
and the cunning old woman penetrated the motive of 
her visits so well that she used to say to her guests, 
* Do you know why la Geoffrin comes here ? It is to 
see what she can collect from my inventory.' And, 
indeed, at her death a part of her company, and the 
best part, had passed into the new society." 

When Fontenelle, who was accustomed to dine at 
Mme de Tencin's almost every day, was told that she 
was dead, he said, " Ah, well, I shall have to dine with 
la GeofFrin." 

No study of an eighteenth-century Frenchwoman 
could be exhaustive without some reference to Mme de 
Tencin, who embodied many of the worst characteristics 
of the period. 

To contrast Mme de Tencin with Mme du Chatelet 

is to contrast utter heartlessness, selfishness and depravity 

with tastes and actions which were far more free and 

untrammelled than people consider wise to-day, perhaps, 

but which were natural and honest if not invariably 

honourable, and which were based on a fixed code and 

according to certain standards then in vogue. Mme 

du Chatelet was the large-minded individual to whom 

special laws must be applied ; Mme de Tencin, on the 

other hand, was beyond the pale of all law. Mme du 

Chatelet did things of which others could not approve, 

because she felt they were right for her ; Mme de 

Tencin deliberately did the wrong things, and no amount 

of condemnation deterred her for a moment from the 

path she had chosen. The only point in her favour, 

which at the same time is a reflection on the morals 

of the day, was that she was clever enough to live as 



The Salons and a Supper Party m 

she did without being ostracised. Because she was 
without scruples she was probably the happier of the 
two women. She knew how to propitiate others, a step 
to which Mme du Chatelet rarely condescended ; and 
she seems to have gloried in publicity, whereas Mme du 
Chatelet went only so far as to disregard appearances. 

There were too many differences in their condition 
and standing for them to be good friends. Mme de 
Tencin was a woman of the lower classes, Mme du 
Chatelet was a great lady. The former had led the 
life of the gutter, the alcove^ the gaming-house, and 
the fringe of society. She had been known as a femme 
galante before she became a femme de salon^ and her 
company was largely composed of lovers, who were 
so numerous and well-known that their names were 
on everybody's lips. Mme du Chatelet's circle, if not 
spotless, was at least outwardly respectable, and she 
remained in favour with the devout Marie Leczinska, 
which was a guarantee that she had not stepped too far 
outside the convenances. Perhaps the strongest bond 
the two women possessed in common was their deter- 
mination to take advantage to the full of such liberty 
as had become possible under the relaxed conditions of 
the Regency. In their different ways each was remark- 
able, but whereas in the case of Mme du Chatelet 
to know all may be to forgive at least half, in Mme 
de Tencin's case the more that is known the more she 
appears unpardonable. 

Mme de Tencin made several unsuccessful overtures 
to Emilie ; she wanted to win over Voltaire through 
her. Voltaire did not like her. Emilie, who was 
always good-natured, even though she wore an air of 
superiority towards women acquaintances, treated her 



112 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise 

with calm indifFerence, perhaps more especially because 
she read her intentions, Mme de Tencin was one of 
those (Clairaut was another) who advised Voltaire to 
give up writing plays. His retort, delivered in an 
obvious and courteous manner, was Zaire. That had 
happened in 1731. 

In 1736 Mme de Tencin opposed him when he was 
trying to get into the Academy. Later she showed 
great interest in his diplomatic visit to the King of 
Prussia, and acted in an underhand manner towards 
Mme du Chatelet. 

Voltaire had been on more or less friendly terms with 
Mme de Tencin before he knew Mme du Chatelet, for 
in 1726 they were both in the Bastille, and he wrote 
to Mme de Ferriol to assure Mme de Tencin that 
one of his greatest griefs whilst in prison was to know 
that she was a fellow- captive. " We were like Pyramus 
and Thisbe," he declared, *' separated only by a wall, 
but we were not able to kiss through a chink in the 
partition." Later, when the opportunity for kissing 
came, Voltaire had no desire to make use of it. Indeed, 
if it had not been that they possessed mutual friends, the 
ill-feeling between them might have developed into open 
disagreement. Mme de Ferriol was Mme de Tencin's 
sister and the mother of Pont de Veyle and d'Argental, 
who was Voltaire's hon ange. Saint-Simon said of the 
two sisters, *' Both are beautiful and amiable ; Mme 
de Ferriol has more gentleness and gallantry, the 
other far more wit, intrigue and profligacy." Duclos 
condemned Mme de Tencin without mercy. He agreed 
that she was pretty when young, and that as she grew old 
she preserved her charms of wit ; but he accused her 
of having a genius for intrigue, of being thoroughly 



The Salons and a Supper Party 113 

corrupt and utterly unscrupulous in her endeavours to 
advance the interests of her friends, and in particular 
of her scapegrace brother the Cardinal. 

Born at Grenoble in 1682, Mme de Tencin was intended 
for the religious life, but feeling that she would prefer to 
make a stir in the world, she had her vows revoked by 
a pontifical bull, and entered upon a career of which 
not the least discreditable episodes were her liaison with 
the Regent, which came to an end through her rapacity, 
her abandonment of her son d'Alembert in 17 17, and 
the suicide at her house of Councillor Lafresnay, who 
left a testament to witness that she was to blame for 
his violent death. 

But when she installed herself in the Rue Saint- 
Honor^, men of letters and men about town crowded 
to her house, and were nothing loth to avail themselves 
not only of her ambitious projects on their behalf, but 
of more personal favours which she dealt forth with 
no unsparing or partial hand. The beginnings of the 
salon were humble enough. Fontenelle was one of 
the first to come, dressed in his large fair wig, in a 
light suit and a yellow waistcoat. Lamotte wore a smart 
red cloak. Saurin, the mathematician, was negligent of 
his appearance, as befitted his profession, but he was 
perhaps the most talkative and assertive of all. These 
four drank their morning chocolate together, and ate ham 
toasted on a spit, Mme de Tencin herself serving her 
three guests. After Mme de Lambert's death, Marivaux 
and Mairan took the places of Lamotte and Saurin, and 
four new friends joined the circle — Duclos, De Boze, 
Astruc, and Mirabaud, the seven forming a permanent 
court, a respectable senate known by the name of the 
" seven sages." 



114 An Eightcenth'Century Marquise 

MIrabaud was secretary to the Duchesse d'Orl6ans, 
De Boze was a numismatist, Astruc a doctor who had 
invented a new specific against small-pox ; Duclos was 
a litthateur^ a libertine, and a cynic ; Mairan, who was 
later to cross intellectual swords with Mme du Chatelet 
on the subject of fire, was a great friend of IVjme de 
Geoffrin's. He was a facile and courteous talker, was 
famed for his politeness, and wrote instructive and agree- 
able letters. He was the author of the Traite de VAurore 
horeale, which Voltaire called *' I'aurore de sa gloire." 

Perhaps Marivaux was '^the most interesting of the 
seven. He depicted his hostess under the thin disguise 
of Mme Dorsin in Marianne, giving her credit for 
being " an admirable conversationalist." 

The novelist was as original in his life as in his works. 
** I would rather be humbly seated on the last row of 
the little group of original authors," he wrote, " than 
proudly placed among the front rank of the numerous 
herd of literary apes." His originality lay more in his 
manner of expressing his ideas than in the ideas them- 
selves. His muse was a coquette. 

It was said of his career that it resembled that of a 
pretty woman, and that it followed the course of the 
seasons, opening with a delightful spring, merging into 
the full bloom of summer, followed by a sad autumn 
and a desolate winter. 

In his day this author was given a place in the front 
rank, but his work did not live. Voltaire said of him 
that he knew all the bypaths of the human heart, but 
not the main road. 

When Marivaux was a young man he fell in love 
with a girl who was very beautiful and more youthful 
than she was artless. The day before the wedding was 



The Salons and a Supper Party 115 

arranged to take place the lover stole softly into his 
lady's boudoir to speak to her for the last time before 
she became his wife. She did not hear him enter the 
room, so busy was she practising various facial expressions 
in front of her mirror — the amorous, the pensive, the 
smiling, the sighing, and the provocative. Seeing that 
she must be the most hardened of coquettes, Marivaux 
walked out again without saying a word. He never 
returned. 

Before long Mme de Tencin's salon was open to all : 
financiers, for her guests gambled heavily in stocks and 
shares according to the system of the notorious John 
Law ; to courtiers, soldiers, and men of the long robe. 
Those who did not know the salon in the Rue Saint- 
Honor6 did not know Paris. Chesterfield, Prior, and 
Bolingbroke were amongst the English there. The 
usual society amusements were in vogue : they wrote 
portraits, evolved maxims and epigrams, and discussed 
problems of sentiment. 

The salon was on the threshold of the Academy, and 
about a year after refusing (on the death of Sainte- 
Aulaire) to intervene on behalf of the Duchesse 
d'Aiguillon's candidate, the Abb6 de La Bletterie, Mme 
de Tencin made a campaign for the '* good devil," Abb6 
Girard, against the Abb6 de Bernis. She was beaten 
after a hot fight. The election of Marivaux, in 1736, 
was a triumph for her. Voltaire was his opponent, and 
swore to succeed, while Mme du Chatelet canvassed 
everywhere for him, and Richelieu did all he could. 
" Marivaux has been elected unanimously," she wrote 
to Richelieu in triumph, when the result was known. 
All the seven sages were already Academicians, or were 
about to join the immortal Forty. When Montesquieu, 



ii6 An Eightecnth'Century Marquise 

Piron, Helv^tius, Autreau and Danchet were added to 
the seven, Mme de Tencin called her salon her menagerie. 
Marmontel paid a visit there in his youth, and would no 
doubt have become a frequent guest had he not been 
advised by his guardian, La Popliniere, that to dawdle 
in ladies' drawing-rooms was an occupation likely to 
interfere with serious work. At any rate he left an 
interesting picture of Mme de Tencin's receptions : 

*' In spite of his repugnance to see me escape from 
him," wrote Marmontel of La Popliniere in' his Memoirs, 
" he could not refuse Mme de Tencin, to whom he was 
respectful out of policy, when she requested that he 
would take me to her house to read my tragedy. The 
piece was Aristomene. The audience was respectable. 
I there saw assembled Montesquieu, Fontenelle, Mairan, 
Marivaux, the young Helv6tius, Astruc, and others, all 
men of letters or science, and in the midst of them a 
woman of excellent talents and profound judgment, but 
who, enveloped in her exterior of plainness and simplicity, 
had rather the air of the housekeeper than the mistress. 
This was Mme de Tencin. I had occasion for all my 
lungs to make myself heard by Fontenelle ; and, though 
very near his ear, I was obliged to pronounce every word 
very loudly and forcibly. But he listened to me with 
so much kindness, that he made the efforts of this painful 
reading pleasing. It was, as you may well conceive, 
extremely monotonous, without inflexion or colour ; yet 
I was honoured with the suffrages of the assembly. I 
had even the honour of dining with Mme de Tencin, 
and from that day I should have been inscribed on her 
list of dinner visitors ; but M. de la Popliniere had no 
difficulty in persuading me that there was too much 
wit there for me ; and, indeed, I soon perceived that 



The Salons and a Supper Party 117 

each guest arrived ready to play his part, and that the 
desire of exhibiting did not always leave conversation 
the liberty of following its facile and natural course. 
It was a question as to who should seize the flying 
moment most quickly to air his epigram, his story, his 
anecdote, his maxim, or his light and pointed satire ; and 
to make or find this opportunity the course they took 
was often unnatural. 

" In Marivaux impatience to give proof of acuteness 
and sagacity was visibly betrayed. Montesquieu, with 
more calm, waited till the ball came to him, but he 
expected his turn. Mairan watched opportunity. Astruc 
did not deign to wait. Fontenelle alone let it come 
without seeking ; and he used the attention with which 
he was listened to so soberly, that his acute remarks 
and charming stories never occupied more than a moment. 
Helv^tius, attentive and discreet, sat collecting for a 
future day. His was an example that I should not 
have had the constancy to follow ; and therefore to me 
this society had but little attraction. 

" It was not the same with that of a lady to whom 
my happy star had introduced me at Mme de Tencin's, 
and who from that time had the kindness to invite me 
to go and see her. This lady, who was then beginning 
to choose and compose her literary society, was Mme 
Geoffrin. I answered her invitation too late, and it 
was again M. de la Popliniere who prevented me from 
going to her house. ' What should you do there ? * 
said he ; 'it is but another rendezvous of fine wits.' " 

Walpole drew a good likeness of Mme de Tencin's 
successor. After crediting her with a vast amount of 
common sense, penetration of character, the power of 
portraiture, the knack of exacting great court and 



ii8 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise 

attention, he admits that she had little taste and less 
knowledge, that she tried to obtain influence in order 
to advance the interests of the authors under her pro- 
tection, and concludes his remarks with, " She was bred 
under the famous Mme Tencin, who advised her never 
to refuse any man ; for, said her mistress, though nine 
in ten should not care a farthing for you, the tenth 
may live to be an useful friend." 

Mme de GeofFrin's salon first opened in 1741. Among 
her guests were Algarotti, Voisenon, the Abbe de Saint- 
Pierre, Thomas, Morellet, d'Alembert, Diderot and Saint- 
Lambert. 

It was at Mme de GeofFrin's house that the argument 
between Mairan and Mme du Chatelet began ; and when 
the discussion grew heated and Mairan appealed to his 
hostess, the latter said, to calm him, " Sir, surely you 
would not draw a sword against a fan." History does 
not say that the fair Emilie rose upon these words and 
left the room, but the action would have been in keeping 
with her character. She was not particularly in favour 
at Mme de GeofFrin's house. This lady did not care 
for women, and the only one who was allowed to be 
present at her most important dinners was Mile de 
Lespinasse. But that was later. Mme de GeofFrin's 
salon did not attain to its most glorious heights until 
after the death of Emilie, which occurred in the same 
year as that of Mme de Tencin. It was said that Mme 
de GeofFrin was fortunate. In 1749 her husband died. 
Till then he had taken it upon himself to order the 
dinners and order them frugally — at supper there was 
sometimes only chicken, spinach, and an omelette. He 
left her a fortune, and Mme de Tencin died and left 
her good company, and there she was without a rival. 



The Salons and a Supper Party 119 

The latter statement, however, is not literally true. 
She had a serious rival in Mme du DefFand, and one 
of the few points which they had in common was their 
perfect accord on the question of Mme du Chatelet, 
who they agreed added nothing to the festivity and 
harmony of salons. 

The relation between Mme du DefFand and Mme 
du Chatelet is one of the most astonishing things of 
its kind. Appearances may have been deceitful. If 
they were not, the two women must be regarded as rival 
wits who embraced whilst they would have preferred 
to choke one another, and made the prettiest possible 
speeches full of compliments whilst in an undertone they 
made remarks about one another hardly suitable for 
publication. Mme du Chatelet had a virtue above all 
price — she never spoke ill of people behind their backs, 
but she was not nearly so circumspect in their presence. 
Voltaire was Mme du Deffand's friend. He tried to 
make Mme du Chatelet her friend too. Emilie had 
one fault natural to a jealous woman — she was not fond 
of the friends of her lover. Still an intimacy existed, 
and Voltaire bracketed them together in one of his 
letters as " two most lovable women." In his letter 
to Mme du Deffand when Mme du Chatelet died, he 
wrote that Emilie sincerely loved her, and that she had 
spoken only two days before her death of the pleasure 
she would have in seeing her in Paris. But then Voltaire 
always wrote pretty phrases. In the spring of 1749 
they met, perhaps not infrequently, at supper, but it 
must be believed that there were insurmountable pre- 
judices on both sides, which rendered such meetings 
more or less of a shock to both. 

Emilie was too much of everything to please Mme 



I20 An Eightcenth'Century Marquise 

du Deffand's fastidious tastes — too pedantic, too frivolous, 
too positive, too enthusiastic, too angular, and too direct. 
On the other hand, Mme du Deffand had a number of 
peculiarities which accorded but ill with these qualities, 
and irritation, exasperation, groans and sparks were the 
result of the clash of character. The footing on which 
they stood was both caressing and menacing, the armed 
neutrality of enemies at peace ; the only difference being 
that Mme du Chatelet was the more inclined of the 
two to uphold the armistice, while Mme du DefFand 
was longing for the opportunity of becoming aggressive. 
What else made her dare to pen such an outrageous 
portrait of any woman whose eyes it might reach ? and 
why, if she saw it, did not Mme du Ghatelet retort ? 
It was thought that she wished to do so, but that she 
died before her chance came. There is no evidence 
to show when the portrait was written. However, there 
is in existence a letter from Mme de Vintimille to 
Mme du DefFand written at Fontainebleau on October 7, 
1739, which refers to a description of Emilie, but it is 
hardly safe to assume that this was more than a mild 
sketch which might have been a forerunner of the other. 
" You mentioned Mme du Chatelet in your last — I am 
very anxious to see her, because, since you have favoured 
me with her portrait, I fancy myself perfectly acquainted 
with her. I am much obliged to you for having given 
me your real opinion of her, as I like to be guided 
by your judgment. I must endeavour to meet her 
somewhere, and to make the King of Prussia the subject 
of our conversation, admitting that she deigns to listen 
to me ; for probably 1 shall strike her as being very 
foolish." 

The king's favourite no doubt referred to Mme du 




MADAME DU DEFFAND 
Who wrote a scathing pen-portrait of Mme du Chatelet 



The Salons and a Supper Party 123 

Chatelet's well-known jealousy of Frederick the Great, 
who at that time, if the date of the letter be correct, was 
still Prince Royal ; but could she have discussed so 
amiably and have been so interested in a woman described 
in such scathing expressions as appear in the well-known 
portrait which ran through the ruelles and was thought 
to be very amusing, in spite of its ill-nature ? Thomas 
said that its author reminded him of a na'ive doctor 
of his acquaintance : " My friend fell ill," he remarked ; 
" I treated him ; he died ; I dissected him." 

" Imagine," wrote Mme du Deffand, " a tall, hard 
and withered woman, narrow-chested, with large limbs, 
enormous feet, a very small head, a thin face, pointed 
nose, two small sea-green eyes, her colour dark, her 
complexion florid, her mouth flat, her teeth set far 
apart, and very much decayed : there is the face of 
the beautiful Emilie, a face with which she is so well 
pleased that she spares nothing for the sake of setting 
it off. Her manner of dressing her hair, her adornments, 
her top-knots, her jewellery, all are in profusion ; but 
as she wishes to be lovely in spite of nature, and as 
she wishes to appear magnificent in spite of fortune, 
she is obliged in order to obtain superfluities to go 
without necessaries, such as under-garments and other 
trifles. 

" She was born with sufficient intellect, and the desire 
to appear as though she had a great deal made her 
prefer to study the most abstract sciences rather than 
more general and pleasant branches of knowledge. She 
thought she would gain a greater reputation by this 
peculiarity, and a more decided superiority over all 
other women. 

" She did not limit herself to this ambition ; she wished 



124 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise 

to be!a princess as well, and she became so, not by the 
grace of God nor by that of the king, but by her own 
act. This absurdity went on, like the others; one 
became accustomed to regard her as a princess of the 
theatre, and one almost forgot that she was a woman 
of rank. 

*' Madame worked so 'hard to appear what she was 
not, that no one knew what she really was ; even her 
faults were perhaps not natural ; they may have had 
something to do with her pretensions, her want of 
respect with regard to the state of princess, her dullness 
in that of the savante, and her stupidity in that of a jolie 
femme. 

" However much of a celebrity Mme du Chatelet 
may be, she would not be satisfied if she were not 
celebrated, and that is what she desired in becoming 
the friend of M. de Voltaire. To him she owes the 
eclat of her life, and it is to him that she will owe 
immortality." 

Many things may be forgiven the witty, sharp-tongued, 
sightless amie of Walpole, but this ill-natured composition 
deserves no pardon. The truth in the background which 
was always to be found in Mme du DefFand's caricatures 
makes the whole none the less insulting. Mme du 
DefFand was a victim to ennui. Perhaps she once 
suffered more than ordinarily from that terrifying com- 
plaint, and set to work upon the above in a drastic 
attempt to obtain relief. It was not a fair return for 
Voltaire's complimentary little impromptu written at her 
house only a few years previously : 

Qui vous voit et qui vous entend 
Perd bientot sa philosophic ; 
Et tout sage avec du Deffand 
Voudrait en fou passer sa vie. 



The Salons and a Supper Party 125 

Mme du DefFand's salon was among the gayest and 
brightest of all. At one time or another most of the 
famous men and women were to be seen there. Henault 
was, of course, the demigod, Pont-de-Veyle the standing 
dish. M. and Mme de Beauvau, better known at 
Luneville, were great friends with their hostess. The 
Chevalier de Boufflers kept the circle amused at his gay 
sallies, and told stories of his mother, the charming 
Marquise. The Comtesse de Boufflers, too, V Idole du 
'Temple^ was never long absent, and the Duchesse de 
Boufflers, who had fortunately by then changed her name 
to Luxembourg and thus saved oceans of confusion, was 
a very prominent guest. She was called la chatte rose on 
account of her beauty and certain not unfeline propensities. 
The following little story suggests them. A verse about 
her was running through Paris, It began : 

Quand Boufflers parut a la cour 
On crut voir la mere d'amour. 

Some said it was by Nivernais, others by Tressan. She 
suspected the latter of being its author. Discussing it, 
she remarked to him, " It is so well made, that not only 
should I pardon the one who wrote it, but if I could 
find him I should reward him with a kiss." " It is I," 
replied the expectant Tressan. For his pains he received 
a couple of resounding boxes on the ear. 

There was besides the Duchesse de la Valliere, whose 
house Mme du Chatelet frequently visited. The duchess 
was the daughter of the Due d'Uzes and much inclined 
to gallantry. The Comtesse de Choiseul-Beaupre, called 
la petite devote^ Mme de Flamarens, Mme d'Aiguillon, 
the Princesse de Talmont, the Marechale de Mirepoix 
and many others, formed a representative and brilliant 
group, typical of the society of the day. 

8 



126 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise 

Sometimes a small number of them arranged another 
kind of entertainment — a supper, a picnic in the country, 
or a water-party. Longchamp, in describing Mme du 
Chatelet's ordinary habits, gives an account of one such 
an occasion on which both she and Mme du Deffand 
were present. It has been quoted as typical of the free 
manners of the period. 

Mme du Chatelet, he said, " passed the greater part 
of the morning with her books and writings, and did not 
like to be disturbed. When she stopped work, however, 
she did not seem to be the same woman. The serious 
air gave place to gaiety, and she gave herself up with the 
greatest enthusiasm to the delights of society. She might 
have been taken for the most frivolous woman of the 
world. Although she was forty years old, she was always 
the life of the company, and amused the ladies of society 
who were much younger than she with her witty sallies. 
When their husbands were with the army or called away 
by other duties, these ladies, to amuse themselves, some- 
times arranged pleasure parties, little trips into the 
country or to neighbouring towns, where they dined or 
supped in some hostelry or tea-garden in the neighbour- 
hood of Paris. Whilst I was in Mme du Chatelet's 
service I only saw one of these joyous parties. It was a 
supper which took place at Chaillot, in an inn called the 
Maison Rouge, a sign which, as far as I believe, has since 
been changed. (In this evasion Longchamp was perhaps 
wise. He did not wish the hostelry to be identified too 
easily.) I was sent there the evening before by Mme 
du Chatelet to order a copious and dainty repast for a 
company of six distinguished individuals. The five who 
with her formed this little party were Mme la Duchesse 
de Boufflers, Mmes les Marquises de Mailly, de Gouvernet, 



The Salons and a Supper Party 127 

du DefFand, and Mme de la Popliniere. The carriages 
belonging to these ladies, after some turns in the Bois 
de Boulogne, arrived at the rendezvous at the hour 
arranged. It was summer, and very hot. Although 
lightly clad, these ladies, when they arrived, began 
making themselves comfortable, and took off part of 
their dress and ornaments, even that which propriety 
demanded them to keep on. I have already said that 
they were not shy before their servants." 

At Chaillot the friends were together enfamille. They 
helped themselves. The servants of the Maison Rouge 
placed the dishes they brought on a sideboard in an 
antechamber. They were fetched from there by the 
ladies' lackeys. Longchamp directed the proceedings. At 
dessert the lackeys supped in their turn in another room 
and Longchamp did the honours. Wine was no more 
spared there than in the banqueting-hall, and they were 
no less gay. *' The ladies amused themselves vastly. 
We could not doubt that. We could hear them sing 
and laugh, and perhaps they would have danced if they 
had only had partners and violins ; but these things had 
not entered into their plans. They did not think of 
leaving the Maison Rouge until five o'clock in the 
morning. Then the carriages came to take them home. 
They found in them mantles or pelisses which their 
maids had had the thoughtfulness to put in for them, 
and which were not useless to the ladies considering the 
heavy dew which was falling. Arrived at Paris they 
separated and went to their own hotels." Longchamp 
remained to pay the bill ; he concluded that Mme du 
Chatelet had not borne the expenses alone, and that the 
" pique-nique " had been a joint affair. He followed to 
Paris on foot. 



128 An Eightcenth^Ccntury Marquise 

Perhaps of all forms of entertainment Mme du Chatelet 
loved the theatre best. She had good histrionic powers, 
and she had been known to warble through a whole opera 
in an evening to please her guests at Cirey. Nothing 
delighted her more than to take part in one of Voltaire's 
plays, either at Sceaux, Anet, Luneville, or wherever her 
friends arranged for such a performance. 

Her early letters are full of references to the opera 
and the actresses and singers, many of whom she knew 
personally because they stayed in the chateaux whilst 
rehearsals were taking place. Amongst them was the 
celebrated Mile Gaussin, who created the roles of Zaire 
and Alzire and played in Zulime^ Mahomet and Nanine. 
It was this lady's boast that she had no prejudices : " I 
go where the wind blows me, I love when it pleases me," 
she said ; '* I listen only to folly, and I laugh at the 
wisdom of others." Truly a woman after Mme du 
Chatelet's own heart. Another favourite was Mile Le 
Maure, who surpassed herself in Isse^ the opera by 
Lamotte and Destouches in which Emilie herself excelled. 
In Les Elements^ by Roi and Destouches, " the singer's 
voice was better than ever," but even her charming 
performance could not redeem Quinault and Lulli's opera 
Athys. Mile de Seine, whom Mme du Chatelet calls 
by her married name, Dufresne, was to play in Alzire, 
but Le Franc begged Voltaire to allow her to take part 
in his Zoraide instead, and this caused a feeling of 
unpleasantness between the rival dramatists, which was 
settled in the end by the " nai've, youthful and gracious 
Gaussin " appearing in Alzire. 

Mme du Chatelet never rested. She went to the 
opera with Mme de Saint-Pierre, to the comedy with 
Mme d'Aiguillon ; she walked in the park with Fontenelle, 



The Salons and a Supper Party 129 

and in the Jardin du Roi ; she supped with Mme de 
Rohan, with Mme de Luxembourg, with la petite 
Crevecoeur, and most frequently of all with Mme de 
Brancas. At this time the last-named lady showed her 
great friendship, inspired thereto by Richelieu. Emilie 
said that the Duke's interest in herself was a virtue in 
the eyes of Mme de Brancas. 

The duchess was quite a well-known figure at Court. 
Born in 1676, her maiden name was Marie-Angelique 
Fremyn de Moras. She was an heiress. When she was 
nineteen it was proposed that she should marry the 
Comte de Duras, but the plan fell through and the 
Duchesse du Maine, whose favourite she was, helped her 
to make a better match with the Due de Villars-Brancas. 
*' Never did any one appear more like the goddess of 
youth," wrote Saint-Simon of the young duchess ; " she 
had all the charm and all the necessary gaiety. She 
danced ravishingly." 

In 1703 Mme de Brancas was appointed dame 
d'honneur to Madame ; more than forty years later she 
took the same post in the household of the shy and un- 
prepossessing dauphine, Marie-Therese d'Espagne. She 
did her best to keep her mistress bright and cheerful, 
but was hopelessly unsuccessful. When the Spanish 
princess died, a year after her marriage, her household 
was re-formed for the new dauphine, Marie-Jos^phe de 
Saxe, and Mme de Brancas retained the post of her 
chief lady. 

Mme de Brancas was a very intimate friend of 
Richelieu's. Her son, the Due de Lauraguais, married 
first Mile Felicite d'O, and later one of the charming 
Miles de Nesle. The first Mme de Lauraguais died at 
the age of nineteen, and Mme du Chatelet, who had only 



1 30 An Eightecnth'Century Marquise 

recently lost her baby son, sympathised deeply with Mme 
de Brancas in her bereavement. " Her letter touched 
me to tears," she wrote to Richelieu ; " it would make 
the rocks weep, and I do not pride myself on being 
made of stone. Was it not sad to see this flower cut 
in its first bloom ? " But in those days life was too full 
of incident to allow of much time for mourning, and the 
round of gaiety was soon resumed. There were country 
visits for Mme du Chatelet to pay : a week in the 
company of Du Fay at Saint-Maur, the gay home of 
the Condes ; a week at Chantilly, where she felt like the 
heroine of a romance as she sat in a wood within sound 
of the sweet murmur of a fountain ; a rush journey to 
Cr6teil, where her mother lived. She travelled a hundred 
leagues there and back in five days, without going to 
bed, " un pied chauss6 et I'autre nu." In the intervals 
there were little trips to Versailles, Fontainebleau, and to 
the Chateau de Madrid, where Mile de Charolais lived ; 
and the afternoon visits in town never ceased ; to the 
Hotel de Richelieu, to the rooms of the Chevalier 
d'Hautefort, to call upon the Venetian Ambassadress, 
and so forth and so on through the endless list of her 
friends. 

Besides she read all the good books that appeared, 
and many unworthy of the qualification. Montesquieu's 
Causes de la 'Decadence de V Empire Romain she did not 
regard as up to the standard of the same author's Lettres 
Persanes. The Tale of a Tub she thought very pleasant 
and very extraordinary. The Vie de T'urenne she recom- 
mended to Richelieu because he loved to be bored 
intellectually. In short, during the few months she spent 
in Paris in the early autumn of 1734 and spring of 1735 
Mme du Chatelet 's days were as busy and full as any 



The Salons and a Supper Party 131 

could be, and the wonder of it was that through it all 
she prosecuted her studies and never lost interest in them 
or her pleasure in trifles. In the T'raite du Bonheur she 
boasts that she laughed more than anybody at puppet- 
shows, and that to her a new casket, a piece of furniture 
or a porcelain vase were objects of veritable delight. 
Not one of the frivolous joys of life was too frivolous 
for her. The activity of her mind and the natural 
simplicity of her character occasioned a bizarre struggle 
between work and play. In Paris the latter gained most 
of the day. At Cirey she applied herself unrestrainedly 
to the former. She, as well as Voltaire, welcomed the 
quiet of the terrestrial paradise. 



CHAPTER V 

A PARADISE ON EARTH 

IT was the summer of 1735 before the lovers returned 
to Cirey. Voltaire had been paying a visit to 
Luneville, where he stayed until the second week in June. 
He wrote to Thieriot, " Here I am in a Court, though 
no courtier ; I hope to live here like the mice in a 
house, which live none the less gaily because they do 
not know the master and his family. I am not made 
for princes, and still less for princesses." Nevertheless 
he managed to find much entertainment at the ducal 
Court. " Voltaire seems to be enjoying himself marvel- 
lously in Lorraine," wrote the fair Emilie, " and I am 
delighted. I am not at all like a dog in the manger. 
He has seen all the princes and princesses, has been to 
balls, the comedy, has had his plays acted, rehearsed 
the actresses, and, above all, he sees much of Mme de 
Richelieu, and appears enchanted." But his time was 
not all given to frivolity. Whilst in Lorraine he visited 
a scientific institute admirably arranged and little known. 
The large hall was filled with scientific appliances, 
especially relevant to the Newtonian system. The in- 
struments were valued at some ten thousand crowns, 
and most of them had been constructed by a simple 
locksmith who had studied philosophy and was sent 
by Leopold, Due de Lorraine, to gain a knowledge of 
his subject in England. 

132 



A Paradise on Earth 133 

When Voltaire was back in Cirey he began to turn 
his attention to science. *' Verses have gone out of 
fashion in Paris," he wrote to Cideville in April 1735 ; 
" every one is -beginning to reason, to turn geometrician 
or natural philosopher. Sentiment, imagination, and the 
graces have been banished." Was Mme du Chatelet 
in any way responsible for this point of view ? She 
has been blamed for causing him to subdue his highest 
creative genius, and she has been praised for keeping 
him in France when he might otherwise have settled 
permanently in another country. Surely the praise 
cancels the blame 1 

" I have returned to my cherished country," sighed 
Voltaire in utter relief, as he set to work afresh. The 
chateau was not yet finished, and was in no fit state 
to receive guests. Emilie had wished for a visit from 
Richelieu, but she warned him that in coming he would 
run dangers of being badly lodged, of finding a hundred 
workmen in his way, in short, of not being treated well in 
any respect — if it could be called not well, seeing that he 
was awaited with the eagerness of the tenderest friendship. 
She wrote to Maupertuis that she was happier than 
Christina of Sweden who left her kingdom to run 
after pseudo-scientists, whereas she (Mme de Cirey) 
gathered together those for whom the Northern queen 
might have searched a good deal farther off than Rome ; 
but in spite of this boast no savants were in evidence 
at the moment, and the Cirey colony was composed 
solely of Voltaire, Emilie herself, her little son, and 
his tutor Linant. The latter was a thorn in Emilie's 
flesh. He was one of Voltaire's unsuccessful proteges. 
Voltaire's kindness to him was quite pathetic, he merited 
it so little. It was one of the great man's best traits 



134 An Eightecnth'Century Marquise 

to be generous to the undeserving, to give them time 
and temper and money, and then be baulked of the 
reward he had a right to look for. All this was an 
excellent example in patience and charity for Emilie. 
She bore it sometimes in silence, sometimes like an angry 
hen protecting a chick for which she feared the onslaught 
of a hawk. 

Voltaire had first concerned himself with Linant at 
the close of 173 1, and presently told Cideville that he 
made verses full of imagery and harmony and was worthy 
of his goodwill. Thinking he showed great promise, 
Voltaire made several attempts to interest people in 
Linant, all of which failed without exception ; and in the 
spring of 1735 he decided to make him tutor at Cirey. 
He was then already becoming disillusioned, for his 
prot6g6 was idle, ignorant, and wrote " like a woman 
who writes badly and cannot even spell." Voltaire, 
seeing the young man would be destitute without help, 
decided that it would be an advantage for him to stay 
in the country for a few months and teach a child whose 
requirements were not exacting and would give him time 
for study. Linant had few of the qualifications of a 
tutor. He stammered, was short-sighted, and knew very 
little Latin. It was proposed that the marquise should 
teach the classics to the tutor, who was to pass on to 
the son what he received from the mother. That was 
quite a Voltairian plan. But M. du Chatelet's consent 
had to be obtained before the idea could be carried out. 
" Mme du Chatelet has a husband, she is a goddess 
married to a mortal, and this mortal dares to have wishes," 
was the poet's quaint way of expressing it. One of the 
wishes was that the tutor should also be a priest. *' Non- 
sense," cried Voltaire emphatically : " point de pretres chez 



A Paradise on Earth 135 

les Emilies." In this he was not quite consistent, for a 
little later, when he wanted to engage a chemist, and 
Moussinot suggested one who was also a priest, he 
thought there would be a great saving in combining the 
offices, and stipulated that the man should work in the 
laboratory on week-days and say Mass in the chapel on 
Sundays. The kindly marquis never allowed his wishes 
to obtrude unpleasantly, however, and the affair of Linant 
was settled with or without his consent, and soon proved 
unsatisfactory to all concerned. The new tutor was 
incorrigibly lazy and ill-behaved. He had the audacity 
to make love to Mme de la Neuville, and Voltaire had 
to apologise on his behalf. He was supposed to be 
writing a tragedy, but never had any of it to show. He 
did get as far as to write a quatrain on Cirey : 

Un voyageur, qui ne mentit jamais, 

Passe h Cirey, s'arrete, le contemple ; 

Surpris, il dit : " Cast un palais " ; 

Mais voyant Emilia, il dit que c'est un temple.' 

Voltaire was pleased with that — he liked to hear eulogy 
of his nymph — but when, a short time afterwards, the 
ungrateful preceptor, forgetting the profound respect he 
owed to the name and sex of his benefactress, wrote 
her from a neighbouring estate where he was visiting 
(without even having obtained permission to do so) that 
" the ennui of Cirey was the worst of all ennuis," Voltaire 
could hardly restrain his annoyance, and was much put to 
it to calm the indignant Emilie, who wished to chase the 
ingrate from her door then and there. Voltaire made 
excuses for him. He said he was young, had little know- 

' A traveller who always told the truth arrived at Cirey and paused in 
. contemplation. Surprised, he said, " It is a palace," but seeing Emiiie he 
said, " No, it is a temple." 



136 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise 

ledge of the world, and threw him upon her charity, 
saying that if she turned him off he would starve. Not 
only was he forgiven, but was allowed before the year was 
out to introduce his sister into the household, though she 
wrote letters like a servant and had the pride of a queen. 
Then the inevitable happened. The young lady 
quarrelled with her mistress, and openly sowed discord 
in the household. She was quite as lazy and parasitical 
as her brother, and imposed on those who fed her. 
"Voila toute la famille de Linant plac^e dans nos 
cantons," cried Voltaire — "the mother, the son, the 
daughter, all are at Cirey." But when the demon of 
prose-writing had seized upon the sister as well as the 
brother, Emilie's patience, too long strained, gave way, 
and she insisted that the Linants must go. There was no 
appeal from this decision. Go they did, but not without 
inflicting a wound upon Voltaire's over-sensitive nature. 
" My duty is to forget him, for he has offended Mme 
du Chatelet," he wrote. He promised not to write to 
Linant himself, and so far kept his word, but he sent 
him money through Thieriot when he heard he was 
unhappy. 

No doubt dismissal was the only safe course. Linant 
at last completed the tragedy commenced seven years 
previously, of which Voltaire had said if he worked hard 
there was a chance of his finishing the fifth act in another 
fourteen years. It was submitted to d'Argental, who was 
appointed judge. A sitting was held at his house upon 
the play, at which Algarotti was present. *' This Pro- 
metheus has stolen some rays from the sun, and the 
statue shows signs of life," was the verdict expressed by 
the latter. Nothing great ever came from Linant's 
struggles to attain literary fame ; but his relations with 



A Paradise on Earth 137 

Voltaire and Emilie show up two people who had every 
excuse to be self-centred in a generous and disinterested 
light which shone at times upon others equally helpless, 
equally self-deceived, and just as anxious to achieve a 
fame they had not earned. Linant's case was not the 
only one of the kind which was brought to the notice of 
Algarotti and d'Argental. At this period these two were 
closely united in friendship with the Cirey household. 
During 1736 and 1737 Emilie wrote more letters to 
them than to any one else, including her favourite 
correspondents Richelieu and Maupertuis. In the latter 
case she had good reason for her silence, because at that 
time he was travelling towards the Pole. 

Her letters are the letters of a busy woman, one who 
is more concerned with a good reason for writing than 
because she wishes to turn pretty phrases or finds 
pleasure in expressing the warmth of her friendship. 
Not that her letters were ever cold ; those to Richelieu, 
Maupertuis, Algarotti, and dArgental certainly were 
not. They had a good sprinkling of compliments, in 
accordance with the fashion of the day. No one followed 
this fashion more thoroughly than Voltaire, who was one 
of the most voluminous correspondents of the eighteenth 
century. He wrote almost every letter as though the 
person he addressed were his greatest, if not his only, 
friend. 

Voltaire said that there was nothing of Mme de 
Sevigne's style about Mme du Chatelet's letters. He 
compared her writing to that of a Pascal or a Nicole. 
He explained that she was born with a singular eloquence, 
but that this eloquence only became manifest when the 
object of it was worthy. 

"Letters in which she was only concerned with 



138 An Eightcenth^Century Marquise 

endeavouring to show wit, little refinements and delicate 
turns of language, such as are given in the case of or- 
dinary thoughts, did not rouse her immense powers to 
their full extent. The use of the right word, accuracy, 
exactness, and force were the characteristics of her elo- 
quence . . . but this vigorous, grave, and firm trend of 
her thought, did not leave her unmoved by the beauties 
of sentiment." 

However much of eighteenth-century French wit 
Mme du Chatelet possessed, she was lacking in that 
particular sense of humour which sees amusing possibilities 
in difficulties and trials. In her letters there are now and 
again pale gleams of something approaching fun, but at 
no time can they be described as hilarious. 

Her first recorded letter to Algarotti was written in 
October 1735. She was expecting him to pay a visit to 
Cirey, but was not sure that he was coming, as there had 
been talk of his accompanying Maupertuis and Clairaut 
to the Pole. " It would have been very wrong of you," 
she wrote, " to have left for the Pole without making a 
tour in Champagne, and I have always hoped that you 
were incapable of playing me such a villainous trick. I 
do not know whether you will convert Clairaut from 
his purpose ; but I shall still be happy enough if he does 
not pervert you. M. de Maupertuis has taken him away 
from me ; he believes that it is quite sufficient if he 
knows how to take the elevation of a star, and that it is 
not necessary to come and take that of Cirey." Then 
she proceeded to tell him that the castle was jiot yet 
finished, hoped he would be pleased with the room she 
had prepared for him, and appreciate still more the delight 
with which she looked forward to his visit. She assured 
him that Voltaire shared this sentiment, that it was in- 



A Paradise on Earth 141 

spired by his sincere friendship, and that he was preparing 
verses relating to the polar exploits. " You will be able 
to tune your lutes together. The voyage of the Argonauts 
will not have been more celebrated, and certainly was not 
more worthy of it." She begged him to come and spend 
the winter philosophising. She described Voltaire's 
library and her own, and told him she was learning Italian 
as fast as she could for his sake, though the paperhangers 
and workmen interrupted her. To help him to find the 
chateau, she described his route through Charenton and 
Bar-sur-Aube, from which village the post-chaise came 
frequently, and that he would find it more reliable than 
relays. 

The visitor arrived the following week. He was the 
son of a rich merchant of Venice, and was born in that 
city on December 11, 17 12. He travelled through 
Europe for the purpose of learning French and English. 
Algarotti was a particularly charming young Italian, with 
dark languishing eyes, and a warmth and gaiety of manner 
which greatly appealed to Mme du Chatelet. Perhaps he 
dressed a little too carefully, and was foppish as to his 
curls ; but then he was so full of respect for her learning, 
and so anxous to have her advice about // Newtonianismo 
per le Dame^ on which he was working at Cirey, that 
had she even noticed signs of ejflFeminacy and resented 
them — which was not likely — she would have speedily for- 
given him. Voltaire called him the brilliant and wise 
Algarotti, and his dear swan of Padua. " We have the 
Marquis of Algarotti here," he wrote to Thieriot from 
Cirey on November 3, " a young man who knows the 
languages and customs of every country, who makes 
verses like Aristotle, and who knows his Locke and his 
Newton. He reads us dialogues which he has made on 



142 An Eightcenth^Century Marquise 

interesting questions of philosophy." In return Voltaire 
read aloud the early cantos of the Pucelle^ or a chapter of 
he Siecle de Louis XIV. " After that," he continued, 
" we return to Newton and to Locke, not without drink- 
ing the wine of the country and enjoying excellent cheer, 
for we are very voluptuous philosophers." Of Emilie 
he declared that she understood Locke better than he 
himself, and that she read Virgil, Pope, and algebra as 
others read novels. In short, they were a well-suited 
trio, and spent a delightful time, as Algarotti himself 
explained in a letter to the Abbe Franchini, envoy of 
the Grand Duke of Tuscany at Paris : 

" Here, far from the bustle of Paris, we lead lives 
fraught with intellectual pleasures ; and we can say with 
Boileau, that neither Lambert nor Moliere are lacking at 
our suppers. I am putting the last touches to my Dia- 
logues^ which have found grace in the eyes of the belle 
Emilie and the savant Voltaire. I try, when near them, 
to acquire those choice terms, that charming turn of 
speech with which I should like to embellish my work." 

He also embellished it with an engraving of Emilie and 
himself set in a rustic scene, which represented the Cirey 
gardens with the chateau on the right. The marquise 
was, of course, highly flattered at being placed at the 
head of the work to represent " wit, grace, imagination, 
and science." But she would have preferred Algarotti to 
dedicate his book to her. As he had already promised 
this honour to Fontenelle, it was impossible. Algarotti had 
taken his idea of a marquise, figuring in his Dialogues^ 
from Fontenelle's Pluralite des Mondes, " People will 
think I am your marquise," said Emilie, and she dubbed 
him marquis, a title to which he had no real claim. 

Voltaire wrote the promised verses about the Polar 



A Paradise on Earth 143 

trip. They closed with an indiscreet reference to his 
life with Emilie at Cirey, and were therefore not intended 
for publication. They fell into the malicious hands of 
Desfontaines, however, and he printed them without 
permission, thus adding one misdemeanour to ,the many 
which resulted later in serious disagreement. 

" While Condamine, the great courier of philosophy," 
ran the poem, "goes to grill himself at the Equator, 
Maupertuis and Clairaut, in their passion for knowledge, 
mean to freeze at the Pole. Even the stars are astounded, 
and remark, ' Either these people are fools or they are 
gods.' And you, Algarotti, Swan of Padua, musical 
pupil of the Swan of Mantua, you also wish to sing your 
immortal songs to the Laplanders, whilst you trace 
parallels on frozen mountains. Meanwhile, I await you 
upon my meridian in the fields of Cirey, a tranquil 
admirer of your knowledge of astronomy." 

Allez done, et du pole observe, mesure, 
Revenez aux Francais apporter des nouvelles. 

Cependant je vous attendrai, 
Tranquille admirateur de votre astrondmie, 
Sous mon meiidien, dans les champs de Cirey, 
N'observant desormais que I'astre d'Emilie. 
Echauffe par le feu de son puissant genie 

Et par sa lumiere eclair^, 

Sur ma lyre je chanterai 
Son ame universelle autant qu'elle est unique ; 
Et j'atteste les cieux, mesures par vos mains, 
Que j'abandonnerais pour ses charmes divins 

L'equateur et le pole arctique. 

A storm of indignation broke forth from Voltaire 
and Emilie on account of Desfontaines' action in the 
matter of these verses. The latter called him " this 
pirate of literature." Voltaire wrote to Thieriot : " I 
begged and prayed him to be very careful not to publish 
this bagatelle. I made him feel that what may be 

9 



144 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise 

good among friends may become very dangerous in the 
hands of the public. No sooner had he received my 
letter than he began to print. That which astonished me 
is that he knows the world so little as to suffer the name 
of Mme du Chatelet to be handed over to the malignity 
of the pamphleteer. If M. and Mme du Chatelet 
complain to the Keeper of the Seals,^ as they ought to 
do, I feel sure the Abbe Desfontaines will repent of 
his imprudence." Voltaire's patience was so great, 
however, that it was some years before that slippery 
gentleman was caught in his own trap. 

Algarotti paid a second visit to Cirey at the close of 
December 1736, and in the intervals of his absence Emilie 
wrote to him frequently, envying him his stay in England, 
where she wished to study, telling him about Voltaire, 
whom she called the first of the Emiliens (perhaps 
Algarotti had been favoured with second place of honour 
in her bodyguard), and sympathising with him because 
Duperron de Castera had made a faulty and impertinent 
translation of his Dialogues. 

About the same time that Algarotti was at Cirey — 
that is to say, in December 1736 — Cirey had another 
visitor, a certain Chevalier de Villefort, who is only 
interesting because he told the most amazing stories, 
savouring of the Arabian Nights, about Cirey and its 
mistress. 

Villefort's account appears in the Correspondance du 
President Bouhier. 

After he had crossed the courtyard of the chateau, 
a servant in livery came towards Villefort and conducted 
him to the first hall. There a bell was rung, and a 
long wait ensued before the door was opened. Sud- 

' Chauvelin. 



A Paradise on Earth 145 

denly it sprang open in a mysterious manner, and a 
waiting-woman appeared in the aperture with a lantern 
in her hand. It was only four o'clock in the afternoon, 
but all the shutters were already closed, Villefort asked 
to see the Marquise du Chatelet. When the servant 
returned after announcing him, she asked him to step 
through a number of rooms, where he could make out 
very little owing to the feeble light of the lantern. He 
arrived at last at an enchanted spot where the door 
opened on the instant — it was a salon lighted by more 
than twenty candles. The divinity of the place was so 
richly adorned and loaded with diamonds that she would 
have been like Venus at the opera, if, in spite of the 
gentleness of her air and the richness of her garments, 
she had not been resting her elbow on papers bespattered 
with xx's. Her table was covered with instruments and 
mathematical books. She gave a half bow to Villefort, 
and, after exchanging some questions, it was proposed 
that they should go to see M. de Voltaire. A secret 
staircase led to the apartment of the wizard poet. They 
mounted, they knocked at the door — all without avail. 
He was busy with some magic operations, and the hour 
of leaving his study or of opening the door was not 
yet come. 

However, his usual rule was infringed for M, de 
Villefort. After half an hour's talk a bell sounded 
for supper. They descended to the dining-room, an 
apartment as singular as the rest of the castle. At 
each end there was a tower like those in a convent — the 
one for serving the meal, the other for clearing it away. 
No servant appeared on the scene ; they helped them- 
selves. The food was very good, the supper a long 
one. Presently the bell was heard again. This was to 



146 An Eighteenth'Ccntury Marquise 

announce the time for moral and philosophic readings^ 
which took place with Villefort's permission. At the 
end of an hour the clock announced bedtime. They 
all retired. At four o'clock in the morning Villefort 
was awakened, and asked whether he cared to assist at 
certain exercises of poetry and literature which were about 
to be held. Complacent or curious, he went. " I should 
never finish if I were to tell you all that is said of the 
wonders and strange occupations of Cirey," concluded 
Le Blanc, Bouhier's correspondent. "I will only add 
that on the next day Venus and Adonis in a car 
and the stranger on horseback were eating cutlets in 
a corner of the wood, and the books were ordered to 
follow them. It was asked by the curious what the 
husband was doing all this time, but nobody knew. You 
may take or leave as much as you like of this story, 
which I give you as I received it and as it was told 
all over Paris." 

Eventually these rumours reached Emilie's ears. She 
was not sure whether to be exceedingly indignant or 
merely amused. She sent word of it to d'Argental, as 
she always did about anything that appeared trifling, but 
might bring about an embarrassing if not dangerous 
publicity. " They tell me that M. de Villefort gave 
descriptions which have been embroidered until they 
sound like a fairy-tale," she wrote. " That which I have 
been told has neither head nor tail, neither rhyme nor 
reason." 

D'Argental reassured her, in his usual diplomatic 
manner, that no harm was likely to come of Villefort's 
indiscretion. 

No two individuals could have differed more than 
Mme du Chatelet's friends Algarotti and d'Argental. 



A Paradise on Earth 147 

The former was showy and a little superficial, the latter 
staunch, true, and plain in his ways. Emilie wanted 
them to like one another, because she liked them both. 
" D'Argental appears to me to be enchanted with you," 
she wrote to Algarotti ; "he is worthy of pleasing you 
and of loving you. He is a charming friend. Speak of 
me when you are together, I beg of you." The last 
sentiment is characteristic of Mme du Chatelet. She 
liked to be thought of, and talked of, and loved. When 
d'Argental married Mile du Bouchet in 1737, she wrote 
to Algarotti, ** I loved d'Argental with all my heart, and 
I wish his wife to love me. So when you write to her, 
please will you tell her something nice about me." She need 
not have been afraid. Mme d'Argental was as loyal as 
her husband. Voltaire addressed her as Madame I'Ange — 
d'Argental being his ange gardien, who was always ready 
to befriend him. Mme du Chatelet poured out to him, 
in an almost unceasing stream, the anxieties which beset 
her on account of her lover. He was so sensible and so 
sympathetic. He knew what suffering meant, too, for 
he had lived through a stormy youth to a serene and 
happy prime. 

Born in 1700, d'Argental had early been destined to 
follow a military career. He fell passionately in love 
with Adrienne Lecouvreur, and his mother, in the hope 
of curing him, decided to send him to San Domingo. 
The actress, hearing of this resolution, herself addressed 
a letter to Mme de Ferriol, begging her not to send her 
son to the other end of the world, promising never to 
see him again, and putting herself entirely in the hands 
of the mother of the young man who loved her in spite 
of all she could do to bring him to reason. This letter, 
written in a most charming style of appeal and self- 



148 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise 

efFacement, only came to the knowledge of d'Argental 
sixty years after it had been penned, when he was an 
old man with one foot in the grave. 

When Mile Lecouvreur died she appointed d'Argental 
trustee on behalf of her two natural daughters]: a rather 
embarrassing legacy, for, in order to keep her secret, he 
had to pay a large sum as indemnity to the relatives, 
and hold himself responsible for the education and suitable 
marriage of the two girls. 

DArgental passionately loved everything connected 
with the stage, and had made a study of the history of 
the drama. " He lived only in the green-room," said 
Marmontel. Voltaire submitted all his plays to him, 
and often found cause to congratulate himself on having 
followed his advice. La Harpe declared that dArgental's 
admiration of Voltaire was a real sentiment, indulged in 
without ostentation, that he adored his talents as he 
loved his person, and thoroughly rejoiced in his success. 
Marmontel was not nearly so flattering. He called him 
rdme damnee of Voltaire, and the enemy of all talent 
that seemed likely to succeed. But he could not deny 
that dArgental was extremely helpful during the nerve- 
racking periods when Voltaire had committed an unusually 
blatant indiscretion, and had to flee for very life into 
hiding. 

Such an occasion happened in December 1736, when 
his satire Le Mondain had been found at the house of 
M. de Lu^on, and distributed by President Dupuy. 
The copies were garbled, and Voltaire was much an- 
noyed. This poem contains flippant allusions to Adam 
and Eve. Its author admitted that, " quite innocent as 
it was, it was certainly not intended to be made public," 
and it brought a storm of abuse and threats of im- 



A Paradise on Earth 149 

prisonment with it. D'Argental warned Voltaire that 
his position was not safe. " What a frightful life," cried 
the poet-philosopher, who was at that moment certainly 
not philosophic, "to be eternally tormented by the fear of 
losing one's liberty on the least report, without a proper 
trial ! I would sooner be dead." 

It is difficult to realise in these days, perhaps, that 
the danger of arrest for such offences was a real and 
imminent one, and that Voltaire lived continually in its 
shadow. To this truth most of Mme du Chatelet's fears 
and alarms, her ill-tempers and nervous excitement are 
traceable, and at this date she was in greater trouble 
than usual. When he fled from Cirey she could not go 
with him. That would have been taken amiss, although 
everybody knew that she had virtually resolved to pass 
her life with him. A tearful parting took place at 
Vassy, whither she had accompanied him, and Voltaire 
caught the coach which was to take him to Holland. 
It was the tearing asunder of two souls. 

To d'Argental Voltaire wrote : " As I saw the moment 
arrive when it became necessary to separate for ever from 
the one who has done everything for me, who left Paris 
for me, all the friends and all the pleasures of Hfe, one 
whom I adore and whom I have reason to adore, you will 
easily imagine what I felt; the thought is horrible." And 
then a different note creeps in, the note of the one who 
feels the chain of love irksome, because other interests 
pull in a contrary direction. " I should leave with inex- 
pressible joy, I would go and see the Prince of Prussia, 
who often writes to beg me to come to his Court, I would 
put between jealousy and myself a wide enough distance 
to save being troubled in the future. ... I should be 
free and I should not abuse my liberty ; I should be the 



150 An Eighteenth'Ccntury Marquise 

happiest of men. But your friend is near me and is 
plunged in tears. My heart is stricken. Would it do 
to allow her to return alone to a chateau which she has 
built for me, and to deprive myself of life because I 
have enemies in Paris ? In my despair I postpone my 
decision." 

Emilie, womanlike, concerned herself first with the 
more practical side of the trouble. She, too, made 
d'Argental — " ange tutelaire de deux malheureux " she 
calls him — the recipient of her anxiety. " "When I look 
at the snow-covered earth, the dark and stormy weather, 
when I think of the climate he is going to, and his 
excessive susceptibility to cold, I am ready to die of grief. 
I could endure his absence if I could feel reassured about 
his health." 

Voltaire had gone to Brussels incognito, and "was to be 
addressed as M. de Renol or Revol, a merchant. Emilie 
hoped he would stay in Holland. Already she felt pangs 
of jealousy against Prince Frederick, soon to be Frederick 
the Great, who was to regard her as his rival in Voltaire's 
affections. Voltaire had received a letter from him in 
August of that year : "If my destiny does not favour 
me to the extent of possessing you altogether, at least I 
hope to see one day the one whom I have long admired 
from afar." At this time Frederick was twenty-four. 
" I positively do not wish that he should go to Prussia, 
and I go down on my knees to you," she wrote to 
d'Argental, who had advised Voltaire to take advantage 
of this opportunity. " He will be lost in that country ; 
entire months would pass before I could have news 
of him. I should die of anxiety before he returned. 
The climate is dreadfully cold. Besides, how can he 
return at any given moment ? In Holland he would be 



A Paradise on Earth 151 

almost as though he were in France — one could see him 
from one week to another, there would be news. His 
affairs are not at all desperate : you flatter me in the 
hope that they will be settled within a few months. 
Why, then, should he go so far ^ I might be able to see 
him again this spring at the Court of Mme de Lorraine." 
She meant at Commercy, where the widow of Duke 
Leopold, Elisabeth-Charlotte, daughter of Madame, was 
then residing. " His stay in Holland might be useful to 
him, but it could only harm him to go to Prussia. All 
these reflections are nothing compared to those which the 
character of the King of Prussia furnishes. The prince 
royal is not king. When he is we will both go and 
see him ; but until that takes place there is no surety 
about anything. His father sees no other merit in men 
than being ten feet in height. He is suspicious and 
cruel. He hates and persecutes his son ; he keeps him 
under an iron yoke ; he will believe that M. de Voltaire 
may give him dangerous counsels. He is capable of 
having him arrested at his Court, or of giving him up to 
the Keeper of the Seals. In one word, no Prussia, I 
beg you. Do not speak of it again. Recommend him 
to hide and be wise," — and so on, her womanly fears 
accumulating more and more strength as she went on. 

In order that the address of Cirey " should not serve 
to excite curiosity," she asked d'Argental to send her 
letters to Mme de Champbonin at Bar-sur-Aube. The 
worst feature of the whole affair was the fact that Voltaire 
would have been arrested before except for the respect 
paid to the house of du Chatelet, and that there were 
those ready to warn the Marquis that he must no longer 
give shelter to so dangerous a guest. Emilie cudgelled 
her brains day and night as to which of her relatives, 



152 An Eightecnth^Century Marquise 

which of her enemies, or what lampoon, if any, could be 
held responsible for bringing about a possibility so odious. 
Her suspicion fell on a distant cousin whose name she 
had the misfortune to bear, and who had once held an 
official position. He hated her, and had quarrelled openly 
with her six months before. He had gone so far as to 
persuade her mother to write to M. du Chatelet to force 
her to abandon the person she had taken under her pro- 
tection — a letter which might well have wrecked the 
household. She thought it was more than likely that he 
had gone a step further and had done this vile thing out 
of revenge, under the pretence of rendering a service to 
M. du Chatelet. She did not know ; she could only sur- 
mise what had taken place. Besides, Voltaire's Elements 
de la Philosophie de Newton had been dedicated to her, 
and, worse still, the first few cantos of that dangerous 
Pucelle were written, and either might be responsible for 
the threatening disaster. She begged d'Argental to weigh 
these conflicting ideas and find out the truth at all costs. 
*' I hope sincerely that 1 have been mistaken," she wrote 
in her agitation, " but if I am not mistaken, as I greatly 
fear, it is of the greatest importance that I should know. 
It would change my whole life. It would be necessary 
to abandon Cirey, at least for a time, and come to live 
in Paris. Here there would be no pretext for begging 
M. du Chatelet not to give him a refuge, and at least we 
could see each other. ... It would be terrible to leave 
Cirey, but anything would be better than such a letter to 
M. du Chatelet. ... I pray you on my knees to clear 
up this iniquitous mystery ; my honour and peace of 
mind depend on it." Even then she was not satisfied to 
let the matter rest. She counted up the members of 
her family again, her mother, the suspected cousin, her 



A Paradise on Earth 153 

brother with whom she was great friends, and the Bailli 
de Froulay, a relative of her mother's, who was incapable 
of such a trick. No fresh light came to her, but the 
mere idea that she or some one belonging to her could be 
the cause of misfortune to Voltaire was enough to make 
her die of grief. 

In the meantime Voltaire passed from Antwerp to 
Amsterdam and to Leyden, and Mme du Chatelet was 
left without news of him. " I am a hundred and fifty 
leagues from him, and it is twelve days since I had 
any news," she complained. " I have not heard since 
the 2oth,'* she wrote on December 31 ; "my heart is 
breaking with anxiety and grief ; you will perceive this 
from my letter." Presently, however, when it became 
certain that Voltaire would not go to Prussia, she grew 
more hopeful, and even reconciled to his strange wan- 
derings under an assumed name. The disguise was so 
thin that Alzire was played in honour of the supposed 
merchant Revol at Brussels, at Antwerp, and in all the 
towns through which he passed. " What a chaos of 
glory, ignominy, good and bad fortune ! Happy, happy 
obscurity ! " she sighed ; " his laurels follow him every- 
where. But how can glory of this kind help him ? The 
happiness of obscurity would be worth far more." 

" O vanas hominum mentes ! 6 pectora coeca : " 

from which Latin quotation it may be gathered that 
the marquise, after an interlude of stress, was more 
like herself again. She enjoyed introducing Latin 
quotations in her letters when she wrote ; Voltaire did 
it too. 

The news of Voltaire's whereabouts was not kept out 
of the papers all this time. The Gazette d' Utrecht had 



154 An Eightecnth^Century Marquise 

a paragraph in its issue of January 14, 1737, on his 
arrival in Leyden from Aix-la-Chapelle. It was hinted 
that it was his purpose to study under Professor 
S'Gravesande, the celebrated Newtonian philosopher, 
whose advice he desired on the subject of his Philosophie 
de Newton. He also intended to consult Boerhaave on 
the score of his health. In a previous issue the Gazette 
had printed a report that the Marquise du Chatelet 
had gone to Lorraine, as indeed the marquis had wished 
her to do, in order that she might be present at the 
marriage of Princess Elisabeth-Therese and Charles- 
Emmanuel de Savoie ; and that Voltaire, who had been 
living at her house for a year and a half, had chosen 
the occasion of her absence to visit the Prince Royal of 
Prussia. 

Poor Emilie hardly knew what to make of the 
conflicting accounts. She was torn this way and that 
way. There was a rumour — ill-founded, as it turned 
out to be — that "the old serpent Rousseau" had re- 
turned from exile. She was terrified lest this should 
upset Voltaire, because she had heard him say a thousand 
times he would leave France the day J. B. Rousseau re- 
entered it. She went so far as to imagine that Chauvelin 
might have recalled Rousseau, out of animosity against 
her lover, which she said would be cutting off his nose 
to spite his face. "After animosity so marked," she 
continued, " he would never return here, and I am 
accustomed to sacrifice my happiness to his tastes and 
to the justice of his resentment. I am as indignant as 
he, I swear it, and all honest people ought to be the 
same. . . ." Then she discussed the possibility of 
Voltaire's secret return to Cirey, and whether he could 
remain in hiding there. It might be dangerous, and, 



A Paradise on Earth 155 

if so, how could she take it upon herself to persuade 
him ? To hide was a humiliation ;. besides, the district 
was priest-ridden, and the people round about were so 
curious. She would prefer to know that he was free and 
happy in Holland than that for her sake he should 
lead the life of a criminal in his own country. She 
would rather die of grief than be the cause of a false 
step on his part. 

Driven almost into hysteria, endeavouring to remain 
heroic, Mme du Chatelet appears a most pathetic figure. 
Voltaire's letters, when they came, were gloomy and 
depressed. D'Argental alone was left to lean upon — a 
tower of strength and sympathy in her affliction — and 
his letters had the soothing effect of David's harp. She 
began to blame herself for giving way to her fears. 

But in the end she could contain herself no longer, 
and urged d'Argental to persuade Voltaire to return to 
Cirey at all costs. She was ill ; she had had fever for 
two days ; the violence of her feelings was capable of 
killing her in four. *' Who is there could save him in 
spite of himself ? " she cried. " I at least have nothing 
to reproach myself with, but that is a sad consolation. 
I am not born to be happy." His letters, few as they 
were and seldom as they came, were cold. She knew 
it was only for prudence' sake, but he called her Madame, 
though the letter was signed. D'Argental could surely 
not condemn her for giving way to misery. "This is 
a disparity so extraordinary that my brain was mazed 
with grief," she added. 

Meanwhile the exiled " M. de Revol " had other 
compensations besides the complimentary performances of 
Alzire. He was superintending the printing of the 
Elements, and had promised to stay at Amsterdam until 



156 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise 

it was through the press, which he expected would keep 
him busy until the close of the winter season. At the 
end of February, however, he capitulated. " I am leaving 
Holland immediately, in spite of myself," he wrote to 
Prince Frederick ; " friendship calls me back to Cirey." 
He spread a report that he was going to England, and 
returned to the terrestrial paradise. There is no letter 
on record in which Emilie expressed her joy at this 
solution of her troubles. Her relief and gratitude must 
be left to the imagination. 

On March i she wrote to d'Argental, enclosing a 
letter to him from Voltaire, which she described as 
*' bien noire." 

*' Poor fellow ! his position is cruel," she admitted ; 
which was generous enough on her part, for his letter, 
which M. du Chatelet took in person to Paris, struck 
a note which in the future was never absent for long, 
and which Emilie might well have resented. After 
assuring his guardian angel that he had not dared to 
write sooner, and had not written to any one else, he 
continued : " I confess to you that if I had not been 
recalled by a friendship stronger than all other sentiments, 
I would willingly have spent the remainder of my days 
in a country where at least my enemies could not harm 
me. ... I have only to expect persecutions in France ; 
that will be the whole of my reward. I should regard 
my presence in the country with horror if it were not 
that the tenderness and all the great qualities of the 
person who holds me here did not make me forget where 
I was. ... I became a willing slave for the sake of 
living with the individual near whom all disagreeables 
disappear. ... I have always said that if my father, 
my brother, or my son were prime minister in a despotic 



A Paradise on Earth 157 

state, I would leave it to-morrow, but Mme du Chatelet 
is more to me than father, brother, or son. I ask nothing 
more than to live buried in the mountains of Cirey." 

Mme du Chatelet added a touch of her own which 
amounted to genius : " Advise him to be careful at all 
times, to print Newton in France, and to keep the Pucelle 
under a hundred locks ! " 

The poet was indeed buried — under the name of 
Mme d'Azilly — to which imaginary person his letters 
were addressed. The spring passed away quietly. 
Voltaire corresponded chiefly with the Abbe Moussinot, 
whom he warned to put nothing in writing which might 
reveal his secret, and with Prince Frederick. Mme du 
Chatelet wrote not at all, or if she wrote her letters have 
been lost, for the next few are dated September and 
November, and were addressed to Maupertuis to welcome 
him back from the Polar regions. But if she did not 
write, she thought the more, especially about Voltaire's 
letters to Prussia. She watched the growing intimacy 
between prince and poet with alarm. She scented a 
coming struggle. 

Frederick was charmingly complimentary on paper 
where Emilie was concerned. All he asked was that 
he need never meet her. A single extract is sufficient to 
mark him hypocrite. 

" How much I approve of a philosopher," he wrote, 
*' who knows how to take his relaxation in the company 
of Emilie ! I know very well that I should greatly 
prefer to make her acquaintance than to understand the 
centre of gravity, the squaring of the circle, potable 
gold, or the sin against the Holy Ghost." 

In the same letter he advised the departure of the 
ambassador, his dear C^sarion, who was known more 



158 An Eighteenth-Century Marquise 

prosaically as the Baron de Keyserlingk, and whom he 
was sending to Cirey to see " the chief of all thinking 
beings," in default of being able to come himself. 
Keyserlingk was furnished with a letter of credit and 
a portrait of the prince. Although a born Courlander, 
Cesarion was " the Plutarch of this modern Boeotia." 
Voltaire regarded this embassy as an honour, and ex- 
pected Emilie to do the same. " Mme du Chatelet is 
awaiting this amiable man with impatience whom Frederick 
calls friend, this Ephestion of this Alexander," he 
declared. 

An ill-timed attack of the gout, to which he was 
subject, following on military business, delayed the 
visit, but at length the ambassador set forth, Frederick's 
last words to him ringing in his ears : " Remember 
that you are going to a terrestial paradise," he said, 
" to a spot a thousand times more delightful than the 
Island of Calypso ; that the goddess of this place yields 
in nothing to the beauty of the enchantress of Tele- 
machus ; that you will find in her all the charms of 
the mind, so superior to those of the body, and that 
this marvel among women occupies her leisure m search- 
ing after truth. It is there that you will see the human 
mind in its highest degree of perfection, wisdom without 
austerity, surrounded by tender loves and smiles ! " and 
then he proceeded to pay Keyserlingk the greatest 
possible compliment, by saying he regarded him as 
perhaps the one mortal who might be worthy of be- 
coming a citizen of Cirey, and that he expected him to 
return bearing the golden fleece — that is to say, the 
Pucelle. 

In due course the ambassador arrived. In July 
Voltaire wrote to the Prince that he was surrounded 



A Paradise on Earth 159 

by his favours — Keyserlingk, the portrait, Wolff's Meta- 
phy^icSy and Beausobre's £)ijj^r/<2//(?«j, . besides a charming 
personal letter ; things which chased away the fever and 
languor from which Voltaire was suffering at the moment. 
The visit, from the guest's point of view, was a huge 
success. Voltaire wrote to Thieriot that the only real 
prince in Europe had sent a little ambassador into his 
Eden. " We received him like Adam and Eve received 
the angel in Milton's Paradise, only that he had better 
cheer and more gallant fetes." 

And all the time Emilie played hostess with more than 
usual care, for she could be very negligent of her guests 
if she did not feel an interest in them. In this case, 
however, she thought it wise to live up to the very 
embarrassing compliments which the prince strewed 
thickly in his letters. These compliments frightened 
her ; she felt they were veiled threats, threats which 
might at any moment break into her peace and happiness. 
The only thing she wanted was Voltaire, and Frederick 
was angling for him. Therefore she was her sweetest 
and gayest, helped to arrange comedies and fireworks, 
dressed fashionably, wore her most sparkling smile, and 
all because she wanted Keyserlingk to assure the prince 
that Mme du Chatelet was worthy the love of her poet. 
Underneath the gay exterior all her wits were ready to 
circumvent the prince. Voltaire was a child ; she knew 
it. He had to be safeguarded against himself. He 
must be watched lest he should do himself an injury. 
The moment was come when she had to put her foot 
down firmly. Keyserlingk was sent back to Prussia 
bearing a huge burden of treasures, the Histoire de 
Louis XIV^ some short poems, and a few fragments of 
philosophy, but not a single line of the Pucelle. " Your 

10 



i6o An Eighteenth'Century Marquise 

ambassador will tell you the thing was impossible," wrote 
Voltaire, perhaps a little regretfully. " For almost a year 
this little work has been in the charge of Mme du 
Chatelet, who will not allow herself to be deprived of it. 
The friendship with which she honours me does not 
permit me to risk a thing which might separate me from 
her for ever. She has renounced everything to live with 
me in the bosom of retreat and study ; she knows that 
the least knowledge of this work would certainly raise a 
storm. She fears every accident." 

When he had left Cirey, Keyserlingk received a com- 
plimentary letter from Voltaire, and his portrait in 
verse. 

" Favori d'un prince adorable, 
Courtisan qui n'est point flatteur, 
Allemand qui n'est point buveur, 
Voyageant sans etre menteur ; 
Souvent goutteux, toujours aimable. 

We shall remember all our lives, that we have seen 
Alexander of Remusberg in Ephestion Keyserlingk." 

Frederick returned the compliments with interest. 
" How happy is Cesarion ! He has passed delicious 
moments at Cirey. The wisdom of Solomon was well 
rewarded if the Queen of Sheba resembled the Queen of 
Cirey, and so forth, ad nauseam. 

The year 1737 was the year of the great competition 
of Essays on the " Nature du Feu et sur sa Propagation," 
for the best of which a prize had been offered by the 
Academy of Sciences. Voltaire set to work in good 
time. The last day for sending in the essays was 
September i ; but Emilie, a month before that date, with 
one of her sudden impulses, decided that she too would 
like to compete. Was she scared because so little time 
was left at her disposal ? Not at all ! She desired to 



A Paradise on Earth i6i 

keep her aspirations secret from Voltaire, whose essay 
was almost finished ; and to do this she had to confide 
in some one — the only ipossible person being the ac- 
commodating marquis, who was always there when he 
was wanted, never when he was not. She found It 
necessary to work at night. She only slept an hour 
every night for a week, kept herself awake by plunging 
her hands Into iced water, and then paced up and down 
beating her arms. After this manner she wrote the most 
abstract reasoning In a style which made It delightful 
reading for Its own sake. 

Mme de Graffigny, who read her essay first and 
Voltaire's afterwards, thought the latter not at all worthy 
of the former. **It is true," she said, "that when women 
mix themselves up with writing they surpass men. What 
a prodigious difference ! But how many centuries does 
It take to produce a woman like her? " Perhaps It is as 
well that Emilles are not born every day. They have a 
way of breaking through recognised rules and irritating 
smaller-minded people. 

The essays by Emilie and Voltaire both contained 
original ideas. Perhaps they were too original. Emilie, 
who knew the line Voltaire had taken, combated his Ideas 
boldly. She stated that fire and light had neither the 
property of gravitation towards a centre, nor that of 
impenetrability. " This proposition," said Voltaire, " has 
revolted the Cartesians. ... As for myself, seeing that 
light and fire are material, that they exert pressure, that 
they divide, that they propagate .... I do not see 
sufficient reason to deprive them of two principal pro- 
perties of which matter is possessed." She also tried 
to prove that light and heat were the same element, 
luminous when it moved in a direct line, heating when 



1 62 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise 

the particles had an irregular motion. Where she failed 
was in not seeing that the movement was only vibratory, 
and the differences of effect were caused by differences of 
speed. But she discovered that different-coloured rays 
of light did not give out an equal degree of heat, which 
was later proved to be true. 

Excitement ran high at the beginning of 1738, when 
the awards were to be made. Alas ! disappointment was 
in store for both. The prize was divided between Euler, 
Lozeran du Fesch, a Jesuit, and the Comte de Crequy. 
The winning essay, which contained the formula for the 
speed at which sound travels, vainly sought by Newton, 
was only sixteen pages long, that of Mme du Chatelet 
ran to eighty-four. " When we saw the judgment," 
wrote Emilie to Maupertuis on May 22, " we were in 
despair. It is hard that the prize should be divided, 
and that M. de Voltaire had no share in the cake." 
Voltaire, on the other hand, was deeply regretful that 
his wonderful Emilie had not been amongst the chosen. 

There was some compensation in store, however. The 
Academy decided to print both essays at the close of 
the Prize Essays, because, although they did not hold 
with all the ideas they contained, they admitted, never- 
theless, that they bore witness to much research, a 
knowledge of the best works on physics, and were 
replete with facts and fresh points of view. Besides, the 
authors' names were likely to arouse the interest and 
curiosity of the public. One was by a lady of high rank, 
the other by one of the best of the poets. 

Emilie was resigned. At least she had failed In good 
company. Besides, she received a full meed of praise In 
a letter from Prince Frederick. " Without wishing to 
flatter you," he wrote, " I can assure you that I should 



A Paradise on Earth 163 

never have believed your sex, usually so delightfully 
gifted with all the graces, capable also of such deep 
knowledge, minute research, and solid discovery as 
appears from your fine work. Ladies owe to you what 
the Italian language owes to Tasso. This language, 
usually soft and deprived of forcibility, appeared in a 
masculine and energetic form when used by this clever 
poet. Beauty, which ordinarily is the highest merit 
ladies possess, could only be reckoned among the least 
of your advantages." And to Voltaire he wrote on the 
same subject : *' I can only say I was astonished when I 
read it. One would never imagine that such a treatise 
could be produced by a woman. Moreover, the style is 
masculine and in every way suitable to the subject." 
After that there came a few criticisms on her statements 
regarding the origin of forest fires ; but surely Emilie 
must have felt that her efforts had been of some value. 

Beside this absorbing interest the other events at the 
close of 1737 and early part of 1738 paled somewhat 
in significance, Linant, having been dismissed, was 
replaced by another tutor. Voltaire lost his brother-in- 
law, M. Mignot, husband of his sister, Marie Arouet. 
Two daughters were left fatherless and dowerless. Vol- 
taire came to their rescue. He stepped into the breach, 
provided them with dowries, and busied himself about 
finding them husbands. He had the brilliant idea of 
marrying the eldest, Louise, who was then twenty-five 
years old, to the son of Mme de Champbonin. It 
seemed to him that inestimable advantages were to be 
derived from this arrangement. The Champbonin family 
would be at her feet, she would be mistress of a pretty 
chateau, newly decorated according to her taste. More 
than any of these things would be the privilege she would 



164 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise 

enjoy of spending part of the year in the company of the 
divine Emilie, and on occasion going with them to Paris. 
" In short, I shall be her father," was his final inducement, 
although on no account would he care to risk making her 
unhappy. 

But Mile Louise would have none of M. de Champ- 
bonin. She wanted to help choose her partner in life, 
and in February 1738 married M. Denis. Her sister 
Elizabeth wedded a M. de Dompierre in the following June. 
These things kept Voltaire very busy. *' The marriage 
of his two nieces and his physics laboratory have left him 
very little time this year for the pleasure he takes in 
doing good," wrote Emilie to d'Argental. Louise and 
her husband spent part of their honeymoon at Cirey. 
The good Mme Denis, who was to play a larger part in 
her uncle's later years, was already much troubled about 
his concerns. 

" I spent nine days at Cirey," she wrote to Thieriot on 
May 10, 1738. *' I accomplished everything with which 
you charged me for Mme du Chatelet and M. de Voltaire. 
They thank you a thousand times, and await you with 
impatience. M. de Voltaire has very delicate health. 
He was ill all the time that I was at Cirey. Mme du 
Chatelet has grown stout, has a pleasant face, and is very 
well. We spoke much of you. My uncle is attached 
to you by taste and by gratitude. He is infinitely 
thankful to you for having loved and consoled us during 
his absence. I am in despair. I believe him to be lost 
to all his friends. He is bound in a fashion which makes 
it appear impossible that he could break his chains. 
They are in a solitude terrible to humanity. Cirey is 
four leagues from the nearest house, in a country where 
there is nothing to be seen but mountains and uncultivated 



A Paradise on Earth 165 

land ; abandoned by all their friends, and hardly ever 
seeing any one from Paris. 

" That is the life which the great genius of our century 
lives. In truth, he is in company of a woman of much 
intellect, very pretty, and who uses every possible art to 
seduce him. 

*' There are no frivolities which she omits, nor passages 
from the best philosophers that she does not recite to 
please him. Nothing is spared by her. He seems more 
enchanted than ever. He is building a very fine apart- 
ment, where there will be a dark room for experiments 
in physics. The theatre is very nice ; but they do not 
play comedy for want of actors. All the country 
comedians within a radius of ten leagues have orders 
to show themselves at the castle. They did impossible 
things to try and get some during our visit, but nothing 
of the kind was to be had except very good marionettes. 
We were received in the very best style. My uncle 
loves M. Denis tenderly. I am not astonished at this, 
because he is very amiable." And then she goes off into 
praise of her husband, and there is no more of her nafve 
description of her uncle's household. 

Another visitor that year was Thieriot, who spent the 
end of September and beginning of October with Emilie 
and Voltaire ; and still another was the unfortunate Abbe 
La Mare, whose arrival astonished everybody. " No 
one has ever travelled so far for the sake of alms," said 
Emilie. The Abbe was one of Voltaire's most unfortunate 
and ungrateful pensioners. It was said of him that he 
prided himself on his literary knowledge, and that his 
head was topsy-turvy. Having been dismissed from the 
post of King's Jester, he asked Mme du Chatelet whether 
he might be hers. " The post isn't vacant, my friend," 



1 66 An Eightcenth^Century Marquise 

she replied. She called him a petit ingrat, because after 
leaving Cirey he never even wrote to thank Voltaire, but 
claimed his linen, which had been kept as a hostage, 
through Abbe Moussinot. Voltaire had entrusted his 
play rEnvieux to the Abbe. This play was a scathing 
denouncement of Desfontaines, and Emilie was terrified 
lest through La Mare's bungling, or his having taken 
a copy, it should fall into the wrong hands. She wrote 
to d'Argental on this subject : " Deliver me from the 
torment of La Mare. I am suffering death and passion. 
Please draw this thorn out of my foot, amiable guardian." 
She was to suffer from another visitor who quite 
unwittingly also became a thorn in her flesh. It was 
the gentle, discursive, and well-meaning Mme de 
Graffigny, who arrived at Cirey in December 1738, in 
a flutter of joy and contentment, and left two months 
later sickened with misery and disgust. 



CHAPTER VI 

MME DE GRAFFIGNY AT CI KEY 

""\7'OU will jump with joy at the date of this letter, 

A and you will say, * Ah ! mon Dieu ! she is at 
Cirey.' " 

The letter in question was indited by Mme de 
Graffigny to M. Devaux on December 4, 1738. 

No one can ever think of Devaux as Devaux after 
reading Mme de Graffigny's letters. He is Panpan, or 
Panpichon, or any of the fond nicknames she bestowed 
upon him as truly to her readers as he was to her. She 
was very fond of bestowing nicknames, and she had the 
art of making them fit the person to whom they belonged. 
She wrote the most amusing, the most indiscreet, and the 
most intimate letters, and she told things about Voltaire 
and Emilie that they would have been only too glad to 
have had buried for ever. 

Born in 1695 ^^ Nancy, of noble family, but without 
a fortune, Fran^oise d'Issembourg-d'Happencourt was 
married in her youth to Fran9ois Huguet de Graffigny, 
Chamberlain to the Due de Lorraine. He was a very 
objectionable person, tyrannical, selfish, and brutal. He 
rendered his wife's life one long misery. In her despair 
she turned to literature and friendship for consolation. 
Three promising young writers at the Luneville Court 
became her friends — Saint-Lambert, Desmarets, and 
Devaux. The last-named was her favourite, and was 

X67 



i68 An Eightecnth^Century Marquise 

seventeen years younger than she, so it may be supposed 
that she regarded him as her son. 

In 1735 Voltaire was at Luneville, and met Mme de 
Graffigny. He was heartily welcomed in their midst by 
the little group of literary aspirants there, and was named 
the " Idol." He was gracious to all, and especially 
to Saint-Lambert, writing the verse which must have 
greatly pleased its recipient : 

Ma Muse, les yeux pleins de larmes, 
Saint-Lambert, vole aupres de vous, 
EUe vous prodigue ses charmes. 
Je lis vos vers, j'en suis jaloux.* 

At length Mme de Graffigny's difficulties increased. 
She was obliged to apply for a judicial separation from her 
husband ; she was almost penniless ; she had no home. 
She accepted an invitation to Cirey with eagerness, and 
looked forward with great delight to spending some 
months in the society of her beloved Idol. 

She was well received by him on her arrival at Cirey. 
She had travelled by " roads which might have been 
made by the devil himself," in fear lest the carriage might 
upset at any moment, and at times obliged to paddle 
through the mud on account of this danger. It was two 
o'clock in the morning before the chateau was reached. 
Mme du Chatelet, whom she called the Nymph, welcomed 
her graciously. Then she went up to her room to rest. 
A moment later Voltaire made his appearance, holding a 
candlestick in his hand, and looking like a monk. He 
was so pleased to see the visitor that his demonstrative- 
ness almost approached transport. He kissed her hands 
ten times, and asked for news with an interest that was 

* My muse, with tears in her eyes, approaches you, 
Saint-Lambert, and lavishes her charms on you. 
I read your poems and suffer jealousy. 



Mme de Graffigny at Cirey 169 

quite touching. His second question concerned Devaux. 
It took a quarter of an hour to ask and answer it. After 
that he inquired after the other members of the trio — 
Desmarets and Saint-Lambert. Then he took his leave. 

Mme de Graffigny soon made herself at home at Cirey, 
and she tried to make Panpan at home too. That is to 
say, she wrote voluminous letters to him every day, and 
many times a day, and described to him everything she 
saw and everything she heard. No detail was too small 
to be touched upon. The way a bow was tied upon a 
curtain, the colour of a cupboard door, the number of 
steps down into the garden, the least word that dropped 
from the inspired lips of her acting host, the retiring 
manners of her nominal host, these and a thousand other 
such points kept mind and heart and pen ever busy. " I 
should like to describe everything that I see and every- 
thing that I hear, my dear Panpan," she confessed the day 
after her arrival. " In short, I should like to afford you 
as much pleasure as I am having. But I fear lest the 
heavy touch of my hand should mix up and spoil every- 
thing. I believe it will be better to tell you everything 
plainly, not day by day, but hour by hour." 

And she succeeded in her desire to give pleasure, not 
only to Panpan, but to thousands of others who were 
curious as to the vie intime of Voltaire and his marquise. 
First of all she described them both outwardly. 

The most noticeable thing about Emilie was her constant 
stream of conversation. "Her chatter is astonishing. . . . 
She speaks like an angel, I recognise that. She wears an 
Indian gown and a large apron of black taffetas, her black 
hair is very long, and is fastened up at the back at the 
top of her head, and falls in ringlets like the hair of little 
children. It suits her very well. As I have only seen 



lyo An Eighteenth'Century Marquise 

ber style of dress, I can only write of that. As for your 
Idol, I do not know whether he wore powder on my 
account, but all I can say is that he makes as much 
display as though he were at Paris. Le Bonhomme goes 
to Brussels to-morrow. We shall be a trots, and no one 
will weep on that account. It is a confidence we have 
already made to one another." 

Then she went on to describe the first supper of which 
she had partaken in that " enchanted spot." It was laid 
in Voltaire's room. 

" I found this supper made delightful," she wrote, 
" by all that I felt within myself, as well as by my sur- 
roundings. What did not we discuss ? Poetry, sciences, 
the arts, all in a tone of badinage and good-humour. 
How I wish I could reproduce them for you — these 
charming discourses, these enchanting discussions — but 
that is beyond me. The supper was not plentiful, but 
it was choice, tasty, and dainty ; there was plenty of 
silver-plate on the table. Opposite were five globes 
and all the instruments of physics, for this unique repast 
took place in the little gallery. Voltaire was beside 
me, as polite and attentive as he was amiable and clever ; 
the lord of the mansion was on the other side : that is 
to be my place every evening ; thus the left ear will be 
gently charmed, while the other is scarcely likely to be 
bored, for he speaks very little, and retires as soon as the 
meal has been served." 

Besides these four there were, just then, only two other 
inmates, very unimportant inmates, in the chateau. The 
one was the invalid Marquis de Trichateau, who added 
nothing to the gaiety of the assembly, but was concerned 
in the great law-case, the details of which Emilie was 
not slow to pour into Mme de Graffigny's ears ; and 




Voltaire's " divine emilie " 
(After the painting by Marianne Loir) 



171 



Mme de Graffigny at Cirey 173 

the other was Voltaire's gros chat^ Mme de Champbonin, 
whom Mme de Graffigny called the grosse dame, because 
she was, " feature by feature," the short fat woman in 
Marivaux's Paysan Parvenu. She paid an early call upon 
the new visitor, who soon decided that she had a most 
agreeable character. A point in her favour was that she 
loved Voltaire madly because he had such a good heart. 
Together they discussed the Idol, and, although she 
stayed a long time, Mme de Graffigny was not bored 
by her talk. Usually the old lady remained in her room 
and read books which did not make her more learned. 
It was one of the unwritten laws of Cirey that all guests 
should spend a great deal of time in their own rooms. 
There was no other entertainment provided whilst the 
host and hostess were at their respective writing-tables. 
Mme de Graffigny found plenty of occupation in de- 
scribing all the habitable rooms in the castle. She began 
with the suite belonging to Voltaire : 

*' His little wing is so close to the main part of the 
house that the door is at the bottom of the chief stair- 
case. He has a little ante-chamber as large as your 
hand ; then comes his own room, which is small, low, 
and upholstered in crimson velvet, a cosy corner done 
the same with golden fringe. It is winter furniture." 

The window of this room looked out upon a meadow 
crossed by the river Blaise. On opening a door he 
could hear Mass said — a concession to the conventions. 
The walls of his rooms were wainscoted, and in the 
panels pictures were framed ; mirrors, beautiful lacquered 
corner-cupboards, porcelain marabouts, a clock supported 
by marabouts of a peculiar shape, an infinite number 
of ornaments, expensive, tasty, and everything so clean 
that you could kiss the parquet ; an open casket con- 



174 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise 

taining a silver vase ; in short, everything which was 
luxurious, and therefore necessary, to Voltaire. What 
money ! What work ! He had a case for rings, which 
held two dozen with engraved stones, as well as two set 
with diamonds. From this room one passed into the 
little gallery, which was as much as thirty or forty feet 
long. Between the windows were two very fine statues, 
on pedestals of Indian varnish. The one was Venus 
Farnese, the other Hercules. The other side of the 
windows was divided into two cupboards, one for books, 
the other for scientific instruments. Between the two 
there was a stove in the wall, which made " the air 
like spring." In front was a high pedestal, on which 
stood a large Cupid, about to shoot an arrow. At its 
base this Cupid bore the well-known inscription by 
Voltaire : 

Qui que tu sois, voici ton maitre : 
II Test, le fut, ou le doit etre. 

This was not finished ; there was to be a sculptured 
niche for the Cupid which would hide the front of the 
stove. The gallery walls were panelled and painted 
yellow. Clocks, tables and desks were in profusion. 
Nothing was wanting. Beyond was the dark room for 
experiments in physics. Nor was this finished. There 
was also to be one for instruments, which at that time 
were kept in the gallery. Everything but physical comfort 
was catered for, for there was only one sofa, and no padded 
arm-chairs. Voltaire was no lounger. 

The panels of the wainscoting were hung with beautiful 
India paper, and there were screens of the same. A door 
led directly into the garden, and there was a pretty grotto 
outside. Could any Idol have found a more perfect 
temple .? 



Mme de Graffigny at Cirey 175 

Yes ; but only one. The Idol's idol. Her rooms 
were still more beautiful, even more recherche. Mme 
de Graffigny visited them in the company of their 
mistress. 

The bedroom was panelled in wood and varnished in 
light yellow relieved with edges of pale blue. That 
was the colour scheme, and everything harmonised — even 
the dog's basket. The bed was of blue watered silk ; 
the wood of the arm-chairs, the chest of drawers, the 
corner-cupboards, the writing-desk, all yellow. The 
mirrors, set in silver frames, were all polished and 
wonderfully brilliant. A large door made of looking- 
glass led to the library, which was not yet furnished. 
Then there was Madame's boudoir, a really eighteenth- 
century boudoir, which made one feel ready to go down 
on one's knees and worship at the shrine of beauty. 
The wainscoting was blue, and the ceiling was painted 
and varnished by a pupil of the famous Robert Martin. 
In the smaller panels were pictures which Mme de 
Graffigny thought were painted by Watteau, but which 
were really by Pater and Lancret. The chimney-piece 
and corner-cabinets were loaded with treasures, amongst 
others the wonderful amber writing-desk which was a 
present from Prince Frederick. There was an arm-chair 
upholstered in white taffistas, and two stools of the 
same. This divine boudoir had an outlet through its 
only window on to a terrace, from which the view was 
charming. 

On one side of the boudoir was a clothes closet, paved 
with marble slabs, hung with grey linen, and adorned 
with prints. Even the muslin window-curtains were 
embroidered. Nothing in the world could be so lovely ! 

And then her jewels ! They were finer than those 



176 An Eighteenth'-Century Marquise 

belonging to Mme de Richelieu. Mnie de Graffigny 
could hardly contain her surprise. She had known 
Mme du Chatelet when she had only one tortoise-shell 
snufF-box ; now she possessed fifteen or twenty of gold, 
of precious stones, of beautiful lacquer, of enamelled gold, 
a new fashion which was very expensive, and incense- 
boxes of the same kind, one more magnificent than the 
other ; jasper watches with diamonds, etuis ^ and other 
wonderful things ; rings containing precious stones, and 
charms and trinkets without end. " Indeed," concluded 
Mme de Graffigny, " I cannot get away from the subject, 
for they have never been rich." Perhaps she suspected 
that some of Emilie's treasures came out of the pockets 
of Voltaire. Perhaps she was right in thinking so. 
Voltaire was often accused of living at the expense of 
the du Chatelets ; but he lent money for the rebuilding 
of the chateau, which was not all paid back, and he 
bought furniture, good wines, and other luxuries. His 
purse was sometimes at Emilie's service — when she 
gambled at cards, for instance — and no doubt he at 
times helped to satisfy the taste for gewgaws, in which 
he encouraged her. 

One would think that by this time Mme de Grafiigny's 
taste for description would have been more than satisfied. 
Not at all ! It was essential — quite essential — that 
Panpan should know what her own particular apartment 
was like. " It is quite a hall, taking height and size 
into consideration, where all the winds disport themselves 
through a thousand chinks and crannies round about the 
windows, which I shall stop up, if I live to do it. This 
huge room has only a single window cut in three, as 
in olden times, and having six shutters. The walls, 
which are white, to some extent diminish the dullness 



Mme de Graffigny at Cirey 177 

consequent on little light of day and but little view ; for 
an arid mountain, which is almost close enough to touch, 
shuts it out completely. At the base of the mountain 
there is a meadow of about fifty feet breadth, on which 
one can see twisting a little river with a thousand turns. 
Re-enter ; for it is ugly by the window. The tapestry 
is by great people unknown to me, and also ugly 
enough. There is a nook, hung with very rich hangings, 
which are disagreeable to the sight, because they do 
not match." 

In this great barn of a place the fireplace was so 
small that even when it blazed to the uttermost the air 
was hardly tempered. Indeed, the whole castle, with its 
thirty-two fires burning every day, struck chill. The 
furniture of her room was stiff, old-fashioned, and ugly. 
The whole was a great contrast to the comfort of 
Voltaire's and Emilie's apartments. Mme de Graffigny 
heartily disliked the room, not without good cause. 
There was also a study, a dress-closet, and a room for 
her maid, Dubois, which was only lighted from the 
corridor, and therefore not so draughty ; and a fine 
staircase, difficult to ascend because it was so old, led 
to this suite of guest-rooms. But the real disadvantage 
was that every part of the castle, except those occupied 
by the chief lady and gentleman, were of a disgusting 
filthiness ! Emilie and Voltaire were both much con- 
cerned with their own comfort, otherwise the servants 
probably did as much or as little work as they chose ; 
and a tumbledown castle is not the kind of place to 
remain clean and sweet without much effort on the part 
of those responsible for its upkeep. 

There was one other apartment which received attention 
from everybody concerned. It was the bathroom. In 

II 



17^ An Eighteenth'Century Marquise 

those days a bathroom was apparently not in constant 
use for its legitimate purpose. We hear of the fair 
Emilie taking a bath when she was expecting Desmarets 
to arrive at Cirey — no doubt as a kind of welcoming 
ceremonial. Certainly this room was occasionally used 
as a drawing-room. It was so like the study that 
perhaps confusion arose on that account. Emilie dated 
one of her letters to Algarotti from "la chambre des 
bains," and Voltaire held a reading there, behind closed 
doors, as though his poetry took on an added flavour 
from the mystery of the surroundings. If we are to 
believe Mme de Graffigny, the apartment was a work of 
art in itself. She goes into ecstasies over it. 

" Ah, what an enchanting place ! The antechamber 
is the size of your bed ; the bathroom is tiled all over, 
except the floor, which is of marble. There is a dressing- 
room of the same size, of which the walls are varnished 
in sea-green, clear, bright, lovely, admirably gilt and 
sculptured ; furniture proportionate : a little sofa ; small 
and charming arm-chairs, of which the wood is in the 
same style, carved and gilt ; corner-cupboards, por- 
celains, prints, pictures, and a dressing-table. The 
ceiling is painted ; the room looks rich, and very much 
like the study ; there are mirrors and amusing books 
on lacquer tables. All this seems as though it were 
made for the people of Lilliput. No, there is nothing 
prettier ; for this retreat is delicious and enchanting. 
If I had an apartment like that, I would be wakened 
at night for the pleasure of looking at it. I have wished 
for you to have one like it a hundred times, because 
you have so much good taste in little nooks of this 
kind. It is certainly a pretty honhonmere^ I tell you, . 
because the things are so perfect. The mantelpiece is 



Mme de Graff igny at Cirey 179 

no larger than an ordinary arm-chair, but it is jewel 
enough to be put in one's pocket." 

At length, and none too soon, Mme de Graffigny's 
mania for describing things was exhausted, and she 
turned to the far more interesting task of describing 
people. 

There was a good deal for the student of human 
nature to observe in that household, and the thing that 
struck the casual visitor first was the variable relations 
between Voltaire and Emilie. Were they happy together ? 
No ! Yes ! No ! All their little differences of opinion, 
their tiffs, their tempers, their irritated nerves were 
perfectly obvious to the looker-on in that circumscribed 
area, where nothing happened to turn the attention in 
a more profitable direction. Emilie was too trying for 
words. She sulked, she stormed, she spied, she refused 
to allow her lover out of her sight. Voltaire resented 
her interference, forgot his usual suave politeness, pleaded 
colic to save a confession of anger, and deliberately dis- 
obeyed her commands. When he was ill " he wriggled 
like a devil in a holy water pot." One day, when they 
were going to play a comedy, he received annoying 
letters. He gave fearful cries and fell into convulsions. 
Dorothea had tears in her eyes as big as a fist. 

Mme de Graffigny, who had no clue at all to private 
troubles, which at this time were making life difficult 
for both of them, saw only the results of their anxiety, 
and judged the worst. She forgot that people with 
temperaments could not be expected to live in perfect 
peace — that there is a zest in quarrels sometimes, and 
a still greater zest in reconciliations ; that though the 
annoyances of daily life together may seem unbearable 
at times, the pains of separation would be no better. 



i8o An Eightecnth^Century Marquise 

Voltaire and Emilie were not the kind of couple who 
find it impossible to live together, and equally impossible 
to exist apart. They had periods of storm and sunshine 
and great stress, but in the main they were lovers, and 
on certain intellectual lines they were entirely necessary 
the one to the other. 

Their quarrels were petty in the extreme. Now it is 
Voltaire's coat that does not please his lady. She begs 
him to change it. He gives many reasons for not 
wishing to do so — the chief one the fear of catching 
a worse cold than the one he has at the moment. She 
insists. He sends his valet for another coat and dis- 
appears. Presently a message reaches him, asking him 
to return. The response comes that he is not well. 
A visitor arrives. Emilie goes herself, and finds Voltaire 
chatting gaily with his gros chat. At last he comes to 
her command, but resumes his black looks and injured 
air. Then she begins to cajole. Presently they are 
both smiling, and peace is re-established. A reading of 
Mir ope takes place ; the quarrel is forgotten. 

Another time it is a glass of Rhine wine that she 
orders him not to drink. Angry words pass between 
them — very- angry words. Those present try to joke 
it off. In time — it is a long time — they succeed. A 
recitation from the Pucelle causes all else to be forgotten. 
There are whispers that Madame forgets herself so far as 
to throw such handy portables as plates and forks when 
she is roused, that Monsieur lets his tongue run away 
with him and utters words such as " Stop looking at me 
with those haggard, squinting eyes of yours," and others 
he assuredly regrets the moment they have left his lips ; 
still, even were such lapses true, are they not counter- 
balanced by the merriest scenes imaginable, when every- 



Mme dc Graffigny at Cirey i8i 

body is friendly and gay, and nothing can disturb the 
harmony and good-fellowship ? There were experiments 
in physics and explanations of cylinders and globes, 
wonders seen under the microscope, puppet-shows, magic- 
lantern exhibitions, play-acting, sing-songs, recitations and 
readings, stories fit to make you split your sides, and punch- 
making which produced laughter for laughter's sake. 

Voltaire at his best can be one of the most delightful, 
most amusing fellows, with a stock of entertainment in 
his brain and at his finger-ends which never fails until 
his audience is too tired to laugh any more, and he 
recites something serious and gives them thrills of a 
different kind. Emilie too ! Could any one be more 
versatile .? She can sing through a whole opera in an 
evening if need be ; she accompanies herself on the 
harpsichord ; she can act any part ever written, and the 
more grotesque it is the more she delights in the roars of 
laughter and jeers that her performance evokes ; she can 
tell tales that bring the tears to the eyes of every one 
present, good honest tears that keep the heart young 
and tender, and leave no scars. She can be very, very 
sympathetic. Witness the evening when she desired to 
hear all about Mme de Graffigny' s life-history — had she 
had any children, and other intimate questions. When the 
sad tale of her husband's brutality, tyranny, and avarice 
was told, every one present wept. She had had children, 
who had all died young ; her husband had made her 
suffer and almost caused her death, so that she had had 
to take steps to get rid' of him ; she was almost penniless 
and homeless. Emilie " laughed to keep herself from 
crying," Voltaire burst into tears, Mme de Champbonin 
did likewise. It was so infectious that Mme de Graffigny 
cried too. For two hours they made remarks on thj^ 



1 82 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise 



mm 

atW 



unfortunate fate. Emille, who liked to go to bed 
eleven, sat up out of sheer kindness and sympathy, afraid 
that if her guest went to bed with her heart so full she 
would not sleep. She did not leave her until after three 
in the morning. " She spoke like goodness itself speak- 
ing," she consoled and comforted and crooned like a 
mother over a sick child. She made all kinds of offers 
in the fullness of her friendliness, suggesting that Mme 
de Graffigny should live with her, should be provided for. 

But alas ! Emilie was one of those unfortunate in- 
dividuals who can never rest on the good impression 
she has created. Before many days had passed she was 
to act in a manner which not only put these overtures 
of friendship entirely into the shade, but awakened — and 
justly awakened — an enmity which was never to die out 
of Mme de Graffigny 's memory as long as she lived. 
And her excuse — well, the only excuse she had for any- 
thing of the kind was Voltaire. 

But the hour had not yet struck. Before it came 
there was to be more fun and frolic, a visitor in the 
shape of Emilie's brother, the Abbe de Breteuil and 
Grand Vicaire de Sens, an Abbe who loved good living 
and questionable stories, and who was himself assez bon 
conteur. More plays than ever were arranged for him ; 
Emilie gave up some of her work and dressed herself 
more becomingly while he was there — when there were 
no visitors she was often mal tenue — and Voltaire said of 
him that he was "the most gay, the most pleasing of 
guests and of lovers." 

Every one was requisitioned to act. Even Mme du 
Chatelet's little convent-bred daughter, Fran^oise Gabrielle 
Pauline, now twelve years old, was sent for from Joinville, 
four leagues away. She was the true offspring of that 




MADAME DE GRAFFIGNY 
"SVhose gossiping letters reveal the vie intime of Voltaire and ]Mme du Chatelet at Cirey 



183 



Mmc de Graffigny at Cirey 185 

erudite mother. She took naturally to Latin, and she 
learnt her part in the play travelling in the coach to 
Cirey. She was not very pretty, but at least she had 
"joues rebondies," cheeks that Voltaire pinched in a 
fatherly manner. 

Mme de Graffigny found that the part she had been 
asked to play was that of a young woman who was dying 
to be married, and who kept on asking whether there 
was not a queen at Paris. It seemed to her that the 
play was a farce, and that she was being chaffed, which 
she greatly resented. The play was one of the versions 
of Boursouffle. These comedies were distinguished by 
being called respectively " Grand Boursouffle " and " Petit 
Boursouffle." The first was performed in 1761, under 
the title of Echange, or Qjiand est-ce quon me marie ? 
The other, with the famous part of Mile de la Cochon- 
niere played by Emilie herself, was performed under the 
auspices of Mme du Maine at Anet. 

Mme de Graffigny's wishes were met, and she was 
excused from playing the part of the forward young 
woman, and given that of a governess instead. 

The little theatre where all the representations took 
place was pretty, small, and not finished, but it did well 
enough for the shows. Mme de Graffigny enjoyed them 
all immensely, especially the puppets. She was greatly 
diverted by the piece in which Punch's wife thinks she 
kills her husband and sings Fagnana, fagnana ! 

Voltaire and Emilie were in their element when play- 
acting. She allowed her wild animal spirits to get the 
better of her ; he was like an amiable child as well as a 
sage philosopher. Emilie wrote to Maupertuis about the 
theatre at Cirey, saying they had a company of tragedians 
and a company of comedians ; that they played Alzire 



1 86 An Eightcenth-Ccntury Marquise 

and r Enfant Frodigue^ and only such plays as were com- 
posed at Cirey, for that was , one of the rules. They 
were indefatigable, and tired everybody out. They had 
been known to go through thirty-three acts of tragedies, 
operas, and comedies in twenty-four hours. But that 
was exceptional. 

When the Abbe de Breteuil, who only stayed a week, 
had gone, and there were no guests present, Emilie and 
Voltaire remained tied to their desks. The former 
worked during the greater part of the night, as well as 
all day long. She kept Mme de Champbonin's son 
copying her manuscripts until five o'clock, or even seven, 
in the morning. She slept only for two or three hours, 
and left off working for an hour for coffee, and at supper- 
time. Voltaire was nearly as much a slave to his pen. 
Coffee, which began about eleven, and was taken in 
Voltaire's gallery, was over by noon. Supper was at 
nine. When he was busy Voltaire did not come down 
for it till it was half over, and when he had finished 
hurried back to his work. Mme de Graffigny was much 
impressed by the manner in which the poet was served. 
His valet-de-chambre remained behind his chair, and the 
other servants handed everything that was required to 
him, " like pages waiting on the king's gentleman " ; but 
it was done without an air of luxury or affectation, and 
Voltaire was scrupulously particular to see that Emilie 
was served first with what she liked. 

Mme de Graffigny must have been aware that her 
pen tripped far too lightly over the paper. She soon 
resorted to several expedients for disguising her real 
meaning, expedients which any child could have fathomed 
at a glance. She called Voltaire Nicomedeus and Emilie 
Dorothea, and she talked as though they were people 



Mmc de Graffigny at Circy 187 

of whom Devaux had written to her and she was making 
comments on their conduct, saying how glad she was 
to hear that they were at ease enough in his presence 
to eat from the same spoon ; that she rejoiced in what 
he told her of the happiness of their union, and hoped it 
would last, and so forth. But her greatest source of 
enjoyment was to copy little extracts of the poems and 
prose she heard at the readings, and this indiscretion 
finally led to her undoing. She wrote a description of 
Catinat from UHistoire de Louis XIV ; she told him the 
story of Merope, crying as she wrote it, for when Voltaire 
had read it her heart felt " plus gros qu'un ballon." 
She ventured to send him parts of Mme du Chatelet's 
translation of The Fable of the Bees, which she thought 
admirable. The preface had been written in half an 
hour. " Our sex ought to raise altars to her," cried 
the grateful Graffigny. " What a woman she is ! How 
small I am compared to her ! If I were diminished 
physically in proportion, I should be able to escape 
through the keyhole." But her crowning mistake was 
in describing the Pucelle to Devaux, who, it is true, 
had heard some of the early cantos at Luneville. It 
does not say much for Mme de Graffigny's perspicacity 
that, after being in Emilie's house and seeing her day 
after day, she had not realised the risk she ran in as 
much as mentioning that terrible Pucelle in her letters. 
Poor blundering old lady, she little deserved the indignity 
that was to befall her, if intention may be said to play a 
part in the enormity of crime. No one could have been 
more innocent of the desire to do harm than she. But it 
is always the well-meaning people who make the most 
mischief. 

First of all she noticed something wrong about her 



1 88 An Eightccnth'Century Marquise 

letters from Panpichon. They did not arrive when they 
ought to have done so. One was missing altogether ; 
and then she suspected, nay, she soon was sure, that they 
were being opened, read, and sealed up again before she 
received them. She thought the people at the post office 
must be exceedingly curious concerning her expressions 
of friendship. She knew nothing of authorities in wait 
to discover the smallest of Voltaire's indiscretions. To 
her the charm of Cirey was gone for ever. It had not 
lasted long — only a bare three weeks. Now she had 
"vapours," she was ill, her eyes troubled her, she brooded 
over the mystery, she felt an air of hostility against her, 
she was indeed utterly miserable. She refused to tell 
her dear Panpan the cause. She wrote to him : " I 
have received the letter which I told you had not come 
to hand. You speak in it to me of a verse of the Pucelle 
which you find charming. I no longer remember which 
it is. Please return to me the leaf of the letter in which 
I speak of it . . . this letter is necessary to me. Do not 
make any comment upon it." 

Her fits of the blues increased. " You will not believe, 
my dear friend, that I could suffer from vapours in this 
enchanted palace ^. Ah, well ! Nothing is more true 
than that I have been overcome by them," she wrote. 
She read Voltaire's Essay on Fire, but it did not relieve 
her mind. At length she threw herself on her bed, and 
lay there for three hours without them passing away. 
She was more miserable than ever ; she withdrew to her 
room constantly, and thought of nothing else but the 
terrible thing that had happened. At last, at last Panpan 
must share her confidence ; she was so overcome by her 
frightful experience that she felt on the point of death, 
and could no longer keep it secret. 



Mme de Graffigny at Circy 189 

On the evening of December 29 she had supped in 
company with Voltaire, Mme du Chatelet, and the others. 
Everything was quiet, there were no signs that a storm 
was brewing, no premonitory rumbles from the thunder- 
clap that was to burst at midnight, not without streaks 
of lightning. After supper, being told that no letter had 
arrived for her, and pondering upon how this could be, 
she withdrew to her room to seal one to Panpan. She 
generally used black wax, hoping it would give him gay 
thoughts — that was one of her little jokes. She was 
happily absorbed in her occupation, the time passing in 
memories of her favourite little poet, when suddenly, 
without warning, the door burst open, and Voltaire 
entered the room unceremoniously and in a state of 
extraordinary agitation. 

" I am lost ! " he cried ; '' my life is in your hands." 

Naturally Mme de Graffigny did not in the least 
understand this melodramatic appeal to her. " What 
can you mean i' — bon Dieu ! " she asked. 

*' What do I mean ? Why ! that a hundred copies 
of some verses of the Pucelle have been circulated. I am 
off. I shall flee to Holland — to the end of the world — 
I hardly know where." Then in excited language 
he begged her to write to Panpan and insist that he 
should do what he could to withdraw the verses from 
publication. 

Mme de Graffigny assured him in all good faith that 
she would do everything possible to help him, and mildly 
expressed her regret that such a contretemps should have 
taken place during her visit. She had still no inkling 
of the truth. But Voltaire refused to listen. He burst 
into a rage, and accused Mme de Graffigny to her face 
of sending the poem to Devaux. " No shuffling, 



19° An Eighteenth'Ccntury Marquise 

madame ; it is you who sent them," he said. At this 
she fell a-trembling, and protested her innocence. Then 
he declared that Mme du Chatelet had proof that Panpan 
had read the verses to Desmarets at the house of some 
lady, and that he had given copies of them away. He 
begged her to write to Panpan to send back the original 
and the copies. She was so frightened that, hardly 
knowing what she did, she wrote as he requested. Whilst 
she was writing Voltaire redoubled his cries that he was 
lost, and that nothing could save him. 

The scene lasted about an hour, but it was only 
preliminary to a far worse state of affairs. Presently 
Emilie burst into the room like a fury, and repeated 
Voltaire's accusations with added epithets. Mme de 
Graffigny remained silent under this shower of abuse. 
It was impossible to do otherwise, for the lady's language 
flowed in a forcible and uninterrupted stream. She drew 
the offending letter from her pocket and thrust it into 
Mme de Graffigny's face, almost shrieking at her : " There 
is the proof of your infamy. You are one of the most 
unworthy creatures. You are a monster whom I have 
sheltered, not through friendship, for I never had any 
for you, but because you had nowhere else to go. And 
you have been shameless enough to betray me, to ruin 
me, to steal from my writing-desk a work which you 

deliberately copied " and much more of this kind. 

She stood in front of her victim, who was rendered almost 
speechless and uncertain as to whether she was about to 
receive a blow. As soon as she could find her tongue 
she murmured : " Be quiet, madame. I am too unhappy 
that you should heap such indignity upon me." 

At last Voltaire dragged Emilie away by main force. 
She continued her torrent of abuse in so loud a tone that 



Mmc de Graffigny at Grey 191 

Mme de Graffigny 's maid, who was two rooms away, 
heard every word. The scene lasted until five o'clock in 
the morning, and Mme de Graffigny was quite exhausted. 
When she recovered herself sufficiently to look at the 
letter which had been thrust under her eyes she saw in it 
the unfortunate phrase, " The canto of the Pucelle is 
charming." She explained its meaning at once. She had 
told Devaux how much the reading had delighted her, 
but there had been no copying or stealing or anything 
else underhand. 

What an unfortunate scene 1 What a sad termination 
to Mme de Graffigny's enjoyment of her visit ! She 
could not realise that Emilie, tuned to breaking pitch 
on the subject of Desfontaines' perfidy, of which Mme 
de Graffigny as yet knew nothing, had completely lost 
her wits and wreaked her gathering passions on the head 
of the nearest possible victim. They were not justifiable 
passions, by any means — they were ugly and vulgar, and 
all the more unpardonable for being hurled at the weak 
and defenceless ; but Voltaire was all she had, and the 
happiness of her life and his was threatened. Let the 
woman with one treasure, which she fears to lose, be 
the first to judge her. She was guilty, moreover, of 
opening private letters, and nothing can ever be said 
in extenuation of that except the worst of excuses, that 
at that date everybody's letters were more or less under 
public surveillance, and perhaps there was not the privacy 
attached to them that exists to-day. By her own con- 
fession Emilie was accustomed to open Voltaire's letters, 
except those she knew were on business, and these she 
regarded as sacred. That gave an element of domesticity 
to their friendship which was half its charm. But even 
then, there was a wide step between opening Voltaire's 



192 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise 

letters and those addressed to Mme de Graffigny. She 
ought to have been thoroughly ashamed of herself for 
what she had done, and when she had cooled down and 
come to her senses she was so, no doubt. 

Voltaire, feeling he had misjudged the case, was the 
first to ask for pardon ; but to persuade the excited Emilie 
to do likewise was a far more difficult matter. He 
argued with her for hours in English, He besought, 
he prayed, he insisted. Megaera (so Mme de Graffigny 
renamed her now) refused. The poor insulted lady could 
not recover from her trembling and convulsions. She 
spent three days and three nights in tears. She was " in 
hell," homeless, friendless, without money, unable to 
leave the house, though she would have preferred to 
sleep on straw in a stable rather than in the room that 
seemed so full of horrible memories. 

When the apology was given it was unsatisfying. At 
eight o'clock that evening Megaera, followed by her 
attendants, came in, and after a curt bow remarked in a 
dry tone, " Madame, I am sorry for what has happened," 
and then she turned to Mme de Champbonin and spoke 
of something else, and drew her husband into the con- 
versation with the sang-froid " of some one who has just 
got out of bed." M. du Chatelet had already done his 
best to explain away his wife's unreasonableness. He 
advised Mme de Graffigny to send for the suspected letter 
and clear her name. Mme de Champbonin was also of 
this opinion. Voltaire continued to weep forth excuses, 
and confessed that his mistress could be very terrible, and 
was wanting in flexibility, but that her heart was neverthe- 
less in the right place. Mme de Graffigny was not easily 
consoled. She spent the days in her room, only coming 
forth at supper-time like some prowling bat. The suppers 



Mme de Graffigny at Grey 193 

were dreadfully uncomfortable. Nobody spoke. The 
Megasra threw looks of fury at her victim now and 
again, until the latter felt it a relief to get up from 
the table and leave the room at the earliest moment 
possible. 

It must have been obvious to every one but the poor 
blind Graffigny woman that beneath her uncompromising 
attitude Emilie was aching with distress at the misery she 
had caused. But she had too much false pride to confess 
it. It was out of her power to be really ill-natured. 
Whilst she thought her rage was justified, she had let 
it loose without restraint. But the matter once explained, 
she did not wish for any more scenes. Seeing that her 
apology had not been taken in the right spirit, she spoke 
of the matter again, saying plainly and simply that her 
apparent coldness was due to the embarrassment she 
felt that such a thing should have happened, but if 
Mme de Graffigny would help her everything should 
resume its usual course. 

Emilie was capable of forgetting, but not so the 
Graffigny. She had been wounded in the tenderest 
spot — her dependence on others. After the second 
explanation things were a little better, and Emilie took 
Mme de Graffigny for a drive— a doubtful pleasure to the 
latter. Fortunately visitors arrived, and caused at least 
some diversion. The " Gradot Mathematicien," as Mme 
de Graffigny called Maupertuis, came on January 12, 
but, smarting under her rebuff, she was not interested 
in him, and only supped in his company three times. 
When he left on the 17 th to go and see Jean Bernoulli 
at Basel, Voltaire wrote to the Abbe d'Olivet, " You 
should come and take a cell in the convent or rather 
the palace of Cirey. The one of Archimedius Maupertuis, 



194 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise 

who has just left, would be well occupied by Quintillien 
d'Olivet." 

There had long been talk of inviting Mme de 
Graffigny's three friends, Panpan, the little saint, and 
the doctor. It was her motto that " to live in one's 
friends was almost to live in heaven." But Mme du 
Chatelet did not care for guests who expected too much 
attention, so that she asked before inviting him whether 
Saint-Lambert was one of those who liked to stay in 
his room. She was assured that he was, but nevertheless 
the visit fell through. Mme de Graffigny chided him 
gently for not accepting the invitation. " Oh, my little 
Saint," she wrote, " all that hinders you from coming 
is the fear of appearing to be an ass. But I can assure 
you that asses are well received here." 

Supposing Saint-Lambert had come then — nearly ten 
years before his actual meeting with Emilie — would there 
have been such tragic consequences ? Things might 
have gone differently. 

Failing Saint-Lambert, Voltaire asked that Panpan 
should be invited — that dear Panpichon, the pet of the 
ladies of Luneville. 

One evening at supper he remarked, *' Now then, let's 
have dear little Panpan here, so that we may get to know 
him." 

" With all my heart," echoed Mme du Chatelet ; " tell 
him he must come." 

*' But you know how timid he is ; he will never speak 
before cette belle dame" said Mme de Graffigny. 

" Wait," said Voltaire : *' we will put him at his ease. 
On the first day we will only look at him through the 
keyhole ; on the second we will keep in the study, and he, 
will hear us speak ; on the third he shall come into the 



Mme de Graffigny at Cirey i95 

sitting-room and shall speak from behind a screen. We 
shall love him very much as soon, as he has grown 
accustomed to us." 

" Don't talk nonsense," said Emilie ; " I shall be 
charmed to see him, and I hope he will not be afraid 
of me." 

But this visit did not take place, any more than the 
other. Then they tried to get Desmarets to come, and 
he allowed himself to be persuaded. 

Mme de Graffigny was very fond of Desmarets — 
fonder than he was of her. She called him the Doctor, 
Cliphan, the big dog, the big white dog, or Maroquin, 
whichever pleased her best at the moment. She grew 
quite excited when he did not turn up at the hour he 
was expected. When he came they all spent the first 
day in Mme du Chatelet's room, where she lay lazily 
taking a siesta ; but she soon enrolled him as an actor 
in Boursouffle, sang to him accompanied by the harpsi- 
chord, and took him for drives and rides. His old love 
was forgotten, he only busied himself with the new. 

And the old love, broken and unforgiving, was 
wondering where to lay her diminished head. She had 
bethought herself of a convent in the neighbourhood, 
but the plan fell through. At last it was arranged that 
she should go back to Paris, and there the Duchesse de 
Richelieu offered her hospitality. She left Cirey on 
February 8, a sadder if not a wiser woman. 

One day Voltaire had come to her room to tell her of 
La Voltairomanie. No sooner had he begun to speak of 
it, than a servant came with a message from Mme du 
Chatelet to call him away. Another day, while Mau- 
pertuis was staying at Cirey, Athys (she called Voltaire 
Athys now, because it was shorter than Nicomedeus), 

12 



19^ An Eighteenth^Century Marquise 

believing Dorothea occupied with her guest, sent for 
Mme du Graffigny to read her his Memoire sur la Satire, 
which was the reply to La Volt air omanie. While they 
were in the middle of this absorbing occupation, Dorothea 
entered suddenly, stood still at the door, pale with anger, 
her eyes flashing, her lips quivering. After a moment's 
silence and embarrassment on both sides, she said, " If 
you will permit me, Madame, I wish to speak to 
Monsieur." Athys said, " I am reading what I have 
written to Madame." Mme du Chatelet made an effort 
to restrain herself, and the reading continued ; she objected 
to one or two of the phrases, and then began to argue 
with him. At length she flung herself out of the room 
in a rage. Mme de Graffigny felt uncomfortable ; she 
had wished to escape, but was not allowed to do so. 
The reading continued. 

Had Mme de Graffigny only realised the gravity of 
the situation, she would at least have had some sympathy 
with Mme du Chatelet, who during the preceding weeks 
had been plunged into the bitterest despair and anxiety 
over the Desfontaines affair. 



I 



CHAPTER VII 

A LIBEL AND A LAWSUIT 

N none of her relations with Voltaire does Mme du 
Chatelet appear more the devoted friend and com- 
rade than in the Desfontaines affair. Ever since Voltaire 
had taken the trouble to obtain Mme de Prie's influence 
in releasing the Abbe in 1724 from an imprisonment 
which for once had probably been justly deserved, and 
had procured for him a shelter under the roof of his 
own friend, the President de Bernieres, Desfontaines had 
been a danger and a menace to him. In 1735 and for 
three long years he made attacks on Voltaire's work in 
one form or another. First he wrote a slander against 
the man to whom he owed his honour, if not life itself. 
For this he begged pardon on his knees. Then he 
translated the Essay on Epic Poetry^ from the English in 
which Voltaire had written it, so badly that the harassed 
author had to re-translate the whole. Then he wrote 
against the Henriade^ allied himself with the arch-enemy 
J. B. Rousseau, composed an infamous satire on Julius 
Ccesar^ and made himself generally so objectionable that 
Voltaire, bewildered, wrote to Thieriot, " What fury 
possesses this man, who has no ideas in his mind except 
those of satire, and no sentiments in his heart except those 
of base ingratitude } I have never done anything but 
good to him, and he has never lost a single chance of 
outraging my feelings." 

In 1736 Desfontaines seemed about to suffer for his 

197 



198 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise 

indiscretion in holding up the French Academy to ridi- 
cule ; and Voltaire, seeing him in the depths of mis- 
fortune, was generous enough to forgive all he had done ; 
but Desfontaines continued his attacks. " He is like a 
dog pursued by the public, which turns now to lick and 
now to bite," continued the victim of the Abbe's spite ; 
and because it was impossible to remain patient for ever 
under repeated insult, the seeming worm turned at last, 
and showed that it was not a worm at all, but a scorpion 
with as keen a sting as any. In language suitable to 
the retort he wished to make, Voltaire wrote a strong 
denunciation of his tormentor under the title of Le 
Preservatif^ fathering it upon the innocent Chevalier de 
Mouhy. The Prhervatif was full of just and unjust, 
instructive and destructive criticism. In it Voltaire de- 
clared that Desfontaines, as a mark of gratitude, made a 
libel against him, which he showed to Thieriot, who made 
him suppress it. 

The disguised authorship did not deceive his adversary. 
In reply Desfontaines produced the Voltairomanie^ a pub- 
lication which shook the terrestrial paradise of Cirey to 
its very foundations. It appeared on December 12, 1738, 
and in it the Henriade, the Temple du Gout^ and the 
EUments de Newton were held up to ridicule ; and, worse 
still, Voltaire, the man and his life, or certain episodes of 
his life, such as the onslaught by Rohan's men, and his 
beating on the bridge of Sevres by Beauregard the spy, 
were dragged to light and given the worst possible inter- 
pretation — his personal courage being impugned. Mme 
du Ch^telet, receiving a parcel which contained this vile 
compilation on Christmas Day, concealed it from Voltaire, 
and poured forth some of her resentment to d'Argental. 

" I have just seen this fearful libel," she wrote on the 



A Libel and a Lawsuit 199 

26th. " I am in despair. I fear your friend's sensitive- 
ness more than the public, for I feel assured that the cries 
of this mad dog cannot harm him. I have prevented him 
from seeing it ; his fever did not leave him till to-day. 
Yesterday he fainted twice. He is in a state of great 
weakness, and I should greatly fear if, in the condition 
he is in, he should suffer any violent shock. He is 
extremely sensitive on these points. The Dutch book- 
sellers, the return of Rousseau, and this libel — these 
things are enough to kill him. There is no fraud which 
I would not practise to hide, or at least soften, news 
so afflicting ; and I dare not flatter myself that I shall 
succeed for ever." 

Mme du Chatelet's state is more easy to imagine than 
to describe. She had worked herself up into a fury 
against Desfontaines and against Thieriot, who seemed 
to her the most dishonest and ungrateful persons it was 
possible to imagine. She was in a fever of anxiety on 
behalf of Voltaire ; she was dying to do something to 
ameliorate a condition of things which was unbearable, 
and she did it, and did it in her most characteristic 
manner, by writing an answer to the defamatory letter 
by the Abbe Desfontaines herself. When JVIme du 
Chatelet decided to hit out, she hit out straight from 
the shoulder, like a man. 

" Naturalists," she wrote, " seek with care certain 
monsters which nature occasionally produces, and the 
researches they make concerning their origin are only 
undertaken out of simple curiosity, which does not pro- 
tect us against them ; but there is another kind of 
monster the search for which is more useful to society, 
and the extermination of which is far more necessary. 
Here is one of an entirely new kind ; here is a man who 



200 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise 

owes his honour and his life to another man, and who 
has gloried not only in outraging his benefactor, but 
even in reproaching him for his benefits. Unfortunately 
for human nature, there have always been ingrates, but 
perhaps there have never been any who have gloried in 
their ingratitude. This crime heaped on crime was 
reserved for the Abbe Desfontaines. The new libel 
which he has just published against M. de Voltaire bears 
this double character. The horror and contempt which 
this infamous writing has inspired against its author in 
all those who have brought themselves to read it, have 
avenged M. de Voltaire sufficiently, and no one doubts 
but that he will follow the advice of all his friends — that 
is to say, of all honest people — who have begged him 
not to compromise himself with a wicked scamp, who 
for a long time has been an object of public horror, and 
to treat with contempt shafts which cannot reach him, 
and which will recoil upon the feeble hand which launched 
them. Moreover, no one would deign to raise the 
question of this libel if it were not full of falsehoods 
which it is necessary to refute, however contemptuous 
may be the source from which they originate." 

She then proceeded to enumerate the misstatements — 
to use no harsher term — which Desfontaines had had the 
audacity to make in La Volt air omanie. He had claimed 
intimacy with President de Bernieres prior to Voltaire's 
introduction, which the latter's widow could easily refute ; 
he denied that Voltaire had ever taken up cudgels on 
his behalf; and, worst of all, he contradicted Voltaire's 
statement in the Preseruatif that Thieriot had ever set 
eyes on a libel written by him against Voltaire. He said, 
in fact, that no such libel had ever existed. Emilie was 
quite ready to bear witness to the contrary ; nay, she 



A Libel and a Lawsuit 201 

panted to disclose the truth. " M. Thierlot," she said, 
" is so far from ever having thought of denying the fact 
[of having seen the libel] that during his last visit to 
Cirey he acknowledged it in the presence of several 
people worthy of trust, and spoke of it with the indigna- 
tion that such a horror merited." Her reply continued 
for many pages, and concluded with a parting shaft : 
" Socrates thanked God that he was born a man, and 
neither brute, Greek, nor barbarian ; and Voltaire ought 
to be equally thankful that his enemy is so contemptible." 

This long and indignant reply to the Voltairomanie 
Mme du Chatelet despatched to d'Argental, telling him 
of her embarrassment and of her desire to keep the 
affair secret from Voltaire, but, at the same time, of her 
determination not to let it pass in silence. " I flatter 
myself that 1 have shown more moderation than he would 
have done, even though I may not have been as spirited." 
She wrote adding that she did not wish to take such an 
important step without consulting the guardian angel, and 
hoping he would approve of her plan. Her chief anger 
was against Thieriot, and she felt there was nothing she 
would not do to induce him to clear his name of the 
imputation against him. 

" What do you think of a man," she continued in the 
same letter, " who suffers them to say publicly of him 
* that he trails, in spite of himself, the shameful remains 
of an old bond, which he has not yet had the strength of 
mind to break ' ? — he who owes the little that he is to 
the friendship with which M. de Voltaire honours him ; 
and, further, who informs me coldly ' that he has not 
read this libel, but that M. de Voltaire drew it upon him- 
self,' while I'Abbe Desfontaines has the audacity to say, 
'When M. Thieriot was asked whether the fact of the 



202 An EighteenthXcntury Marquise 

libel at the President de Bernieres' house was true, he 
was obliged to answer that he had no knowledge of any 
such thing.' I wrote about this in good strong terms, 
but if he does not make the most authentic reparation to 
M. de Voltaire, I wiU pursue him to the end of the 
universe to obtain it." 

All the fat was in the fire, as the saying goes. Thieriot 
temporised, prevaricated, wrote a letter to Mme du 
Chatelet full of weak argument and weaker defence. 
He did not, it appeared, wish to be mixed up in the affair 
at all. His answers were vague and equivocal. He was 
afraid of the vituperations which might be hurled at his 
head. He desired to run with the hare and hunt with 
the hounds. Mme du Chatelet could hardly contain her 
indignation. She took his letter phrase by phrase, and 
rent each one of them to pieces. What ! he recognises 
my zeal for my friend ? Is it not edifying that Thieriot 
should appreciate my zeal ? The Preservatif had scandal- 
ised him ^ Just then he was edified, now he is scandalised ! 
He remembered the facts but not the circumstances ? 
No doubt it was very convenient for him to forget 
circumstances which concerned Voltaire. He wrote about 
the author of L,a Voltairomanie without mentioning his 
name.'' Then he was the only one who pretended not 
to know it or dared not pronounce it. He spoke of 
having nursed Voltaire through the small-pox, but never 
a word of the favours Voltaire had showered upon him. 
And as a final fling, it was worth noting that aU the very 
important circumstances which Master Thieriot had found 
it convenient to forget were written in black and white, 
word for word, in twenty letters still in existence, which 
should be printed, for fear he should forget what was in 
them again. 



A Libel and a Lawsuit 203 

What a staunch friend, what a terrifying enemy, was 
this divine Emilie ! 

Meanwhile Voltaire had been concealing from her the 
very truth that she had been concealing from him. This 
mutual deception between friends for each other's sake was 
praiseworthy. 

" All my precautions have been in vain," she wrote to 
d'Argental on January 3. "This unfortunate libel has 
reached your friend. He confessed it, but he did not 
show it to me. I even saw that all he feared was lest 
I should see it. I could not do less than appear to be in 
accord with his delicacy on this score, and I conformed to 
it by not letting him know that I had any knowledge of 
it. I sacrificed to his feelings the pleasure which I should 
have had in telling him that which I was prepared to do 
on his behalf. Thus, my dear friend, no one else but you 
is aware of it. He has never shown so much coolness 
and wisdom. He will not reply to this frightful libel 
except to destroy the slander which I know well he could 
not leave in existence without dishonouring himself." 

Emilie had undoubtedly taken too much upon herself, 
but one can only like her for it. 

Voltaire was soon to learn what she had done, and 
naturally was not altogether pleased. He wrote to 
d'Argental : *' Mme du Chatelet is laughing at me, with 
her kindness of soul and her hidden benefits. She has at 
last confessed to me and read to me what she sent you. 
Would to God that it had been as presentable as it was 
admirable ! " But to Thieriot he wrote more irritably 
than to d'Argental: "She was very wrong indeed to 
have hidden all this from me for a week. It means 
she has retarded my triumph for that length of time." 
He had already decided to take legal action against 



204 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise 

Desfontaines for criminal libel. His chief witnesses were 
to be Mme de Bernieres and Thieriot ; but — a bolt from 
the blue — Thieriot refused to say a word. His treachery 
dawned slowly on Voltaire's mind. For twenty-five years 
they had been confidential friends. Voltaire had done 
much for the younger man ; on one occasion he had 
hidden fifty louis in the trunk which Thieriot had brought 
to Cirey, as a pleasant surprise for him. And now this 
blow ! He wrote to implore him to explain : 

" I have been your friend for twenty years, and all the 
bonds which could unite friendship have drawn us one to 
the other. . . . And to-day, a man universally detested for 
his wickedness, a man who has been justly reproached for 
ingratitude to me, dares to treat me as an impudent liar, 
when he is told that as the price of my services he has 
issued a libel against me. He cites you as a witness, he 
prints a statement that you have betrayed your friend, 
and that you are ashamed of still being a friend. ... I 
know only from you that Desfontaines wrote a libel 
against me in the time of Bicetre. I know only from 
you that this libel was a horrible irony called Apologie 
du S'teur Volt aire T 

Thieriot had not only mentioned the libel in the 
presence of Voltaire and Mme du Chatelet ; he had 
written about it, and the letters were in Mme du Chatelet's 
possession. 

" How is it," continued Voltaire, *' that he has the 
impudence to say you disavow that which you have said 
to me so many times . . . that he dishonours me through 
your lips } " 

A few days later he refers to Thieriot's ill-considered 
letter to Emilie : 

" Why have you written a harsh and unsuit^bl^ letter 



A Libel and a Lawsuit 205 

to Mme du Chatelet under the existing circumstances ? 
In the name of our friendship write her something better 
suited to her feelings. You know the strength and pride 
of her character ; she looks upon friendship as a sacred 
bond, and the slightest shadow of policy in friendship 
appears to her in the light of a crime. How can you 
say to her that you hate libels as much as you love 
criticism, after sending her the manuscript letter against 
Moncrif, the verse against Bernard, against Mile Salle ? — 
what do you expect her to think ? . , . Once again, inform 
her that you are not vacillating for a moment between 
Desfontaines and your friend. Give the truth its due." 

Nothing hurt Voltaire more in the Desfontaines affair 
than Thieriot's defection. Pressure was brought to bear 
upon the defaulter from every side. Prince Frederick's 
influence was enlisted ; d'Argental wrote to urge him 
to remain the poet's friend, and to render the service 
demanded of him ; the gros chat, Mme de Champbonin, 
was despatched to Paris to woo him with feline blandish- 
ments; and, wonder of wonders, M. du Chatelet bestirred 
himself — no doubt at his wife's instigation — and wrote 
a long and persuasive epistle well calculated, as Emilie 
herself said, to make him reflect seriously, perhaps to 
die of shame. 

The other witness, Mme la Presidente de Bernieres, 
did all that was required of her without persuasion. It 
was suggested that Voltaire had been lodged and fed 
at the president's expense. This she contradicted, saying 
that Voltaire had paid amply for himself and his friend. 
Emilie was delighted. " La bonne Bernieres," she cried, 
" I love her with all my heart " — and she prayed that 
Thieriot might see the letter. Voltaire clinched the 
matter by writing a reply entitled Memoire sur la Satire ; 



2o6 An Eighteenth-Century Marquise 

and the result of his shafts and Emilie's somewhat 
hysterical shrieks of denunciation appeared when Des- 
fontaines was forced to retract his libel or go to prison. 
Being the man he was, he chose the former alternative, 
and signed a deed to that eiFect on April 4. Voltaire, 
gasping, bruised, and exhausted, was victorious. Emilie, 
smarting, weary, but rejoicing in her role of protector, 
was triumphant. 

Only one anxiety remained. Throughout the trying 
time of the Desfontaines affair, Voltaire had been fretting 
to go to Paris, and fight openly on the field of battle. 
Among others the Abbe Moussinot had urged him to 
do so, much to Emilie's despair. She had brought all 
her wits to bear on the subject of keeping him at Grey, 
and prayed d'Argental " on her knees " to write and say 
he would do wrong to go. She also begged him to send 
an antidote to Moussinot's suggestions. Voltaire said, 
" It is fearful that they will not let me go to Paris." 
However, no sooner was peace restored, and Voltaire 
fairly settled at work on a tragedy, than Emilie expe- 
rienced a sudden perverse desire to make a move. 
Voltaire had suffered severely, and did not appear to 
be quite recovered in health. The only thing that she 
thought would restore him was the bustle of travel. He 
was not grateful for her solicitude, however. " I do 
not know when I shall return to my charming solitude," 
he sighed. " I am ill, and perhaps I shall never come 
back." But he had to go. 

It was May 8, 1739, when they left Cirey, after living 
there with very little interruption since March 1737. 
Their destination was Brussels, their object the law-suit 
about the Marquis de Trichateau's estates, which was 
to keep them in a kind of exile for some years to come. 



A Libel and a Lawsuit 207 

Brussels was reached on May 28, after a stay at Valen- 
ciennes, where they had been entertained by the Intendant, 
M. de Sechelles, who arranged balls, ballets, and comedies 
" with infinite gallantry," as Emilie put it. On the 30th 
they proceeded to Beringhen, the estate composed of 
Ham and Beringhen, situated near Liege and Juliers, 
which had been left to the Marquis de Trichateau 
through his mother, the Baronne de Honsbruck. The 
Marquis de Trichateau died at Cirey in 1740, leaving 
the landed property to the Marquis du Chitelet. Voltaire 
had for some time been trying to dispose of " this little 
corner of the earth," which was burdened by debts, 
to the King of Prussia ; but Frederick was not keen 
on buying it on his father's behalf, although it promised 
a convenient meeting-place between him and Voltaire. 

The latter returned to the charge again and again, 
though he had to confess that the district was extremely 
desolate. " If Mme du Chatelet stays in this country 
for long," he wrote, " she may be called the Queen of 
Savages. . . . To-morrow we are going to the superb 
chateau of Ham, where we are not at all sure to find 
beds, windows, or doors. They say that thieves abound 
here. In that case they must Ke thieves who are doing 
penance. No one is worth robbing except ourselves." 

From Beringhen they returned to Brussels, and took 
up their residence in the Rue de la Grosse-Tour ; but they 
were still living what Emilie calls " a wandering life," 
in a letter she wrote to Prince Frederick to thank him 
for a present of amber inkstands and a box of games. 
** They arrived whilst we were at Enghien, rehearsing 
a comedy," she wrote. "We went down promptly from 
the theatre to play a little game of quadrille with the 
charming cards you sent." 



2o8 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise 

A day or two later their host, the Due d'Aremberg, 
caused Prince Frederick's health to be drunk in good 
wine of Hungary, which tasted like nectar. They re- 
mained the duke's guests until July i8, "in a castle where 
there are no books except those that Mme du Chatelet 
and I brought ourselves," wrote Voltaire, " but as a 
recompense there are gardens more beautiful than those 
of Chantilly, and one leads that free and delightful life 
which makes the charm of the country. The owner 
of this fine resort is worth far more than many books." 
They returned to the Rue de la Grosse-Tour on July 1 8, 
and set to work again. Mme du Chatelet was extremely 
busy with her lawsuit, learning Flemish and studying 
mathematics under Koenig, whom she had taken to 
Brussels with her. These occupations left her so little 
time that she hardly knew whether Brussels was gay 
or sad. She feared that she would not have the 
advantage of his help for long, and desired to make 
the most of it. KcEnig was not well at this time, and 
appeared to look back with regret upon his life in 
Switzerland. 

Mme du Chatelet found it hard to make progress 
under his tuition, and was discontented because she did 
not get on more quickly. She thought she was being 
hindered by the anxieties the law-case was causing her, 
and thereupon redoubled her efforts. "Just imagine," she 
wrote to Maupertuis, " that although I am often obliged 
to stay in town for supper, I get up every day at six o'clock 
to study, and in spite of this I have not yet been able to 
finish the algorithm. My memory fails me at every 
moment, and I fear that it is too late for me to learn such 
difficult things. M. de Koenig encourages me some- 
times; but he, who often told me to go slowly, hurries 



A Libel and a Lawsuit 209 

me on at a pace with which I have great trouble to keep 
up. It is nearly six weeks since we have been working 
as much as our journey, his health, and my affairs have 
permitted, and I should be quite unable to respond with 
the application of rules I have learnt in even the smallest 
problem. To see things under another form disconcerts 
me ; in short, at times I am ready to abandon the whole 
thing. In magnis voluisse sat est, is not at all my motto. 
If I cannot at least succeed in being mediocre, I wish 
I had never undertaken anything. I do not know if 
Koenig feels that he can make anything of me ; I believe 
my incapacity disgusts him. He who has attained to 
things so difficult may well pride himself on the honour of 
it. But I cannot complain. He is a man with a clear and 
profound mind. He is as patient with me as he can be, 
but he is discontented with his fate, although assuredly I 
forget nothing which can make his life pleasant and which 
may win his friendship." 

So much for science. Law was quite as trying. No 
one knew whether the case would last three months or 
three years; the only certain thing was that in the end it 
would be won. And as it turned out, for the next few 
years Emilie had to move from Brussels to Paris and back 
to Brussels at irregular intervals. Voltaire was in her 
train. He followed of necessity ; and he grumbled. 
Perhaps it relieved his feelings. But, by his own confes- 
sion, the society of Mme du Chatelet was " his banquet 
and his music." At the end of August she dragged her 
two slaves to the capital. Voltaire lodged in the Hotel 
de Brie, Emilie at the H6tel de Richelieu, and Kcenig 
vanished for a space, to be heard of soon again. Paris 
was very gay, and there were many changes at Court. 
Mme de Mailly was now the reigning beauty. The 



210 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise 

marriage of Louis XV's eldest daughter to the Infante 
Philippe took place on August 26, and gave rise to a 
number of festivities which Emilie thoroughly enjoyed 
and which Voltaire found boresome. " Paris is an abyss 
where one loses repose and the contemplation of one's 
soul, without which life is only a troublesome tumult," 
he wrote to the good Champbonin. "I no longer live. I 
am dragged in spite of myself into the stream. I go, 
I come. I sup at the end of the town, to sup the next 
night at the other end. From the society of three or 
four intimate friends it is necessary to fly to the opera, 
to the comedy, to see curiosities, to be a stranger, to 
embrace a hundred people a day, to make and receive a 
hundred protestations, not one instant to oneself, no 
time to write, to think, or to sleep. I am like the ancient 
who died, crushed by the flowers they threw at him." 
And after being tossed about in a perpetual tempest and 
brilliant chaos, they had to go back to Brussels to plead 
sadly, "It is like the gout after gambling. My dear tom- 
cat," he concluded quaintly, " I kiss your velvet paws a 
thousand times." 

As for Emilie, she was never flustered ; she never 
lost her wits, and she could collect her thoughts every- 
where, being quite capable of dancing, feasting, and 
playing cards all night, and getting up to work out 
mathematical problems before breakfast. During this 
visit she saw a good deal of the learned Mme d'Aiguillon, 
who had studied English very successfully, probably to 
please her friend Algarotti. " She seems quite English 
now," she wrote to the Italian ; " she understands this 
language better than I do, and I think perhaps almost 
as well as you do." 

Emilie was also in communication with Maupertuis 



A Libel and a Lawsuit 211 

concerning Bernoulli, whom she desired as a successor 
to Koenig. Voltaire thought the latter a great meta- 
physician, but wanting in imagination, nor did he agree 
with his Leibnitzian views on matter. 

In November the illustrious couple spent a week or 
so at Cirey, and then returned to Brussels, passing 
through Liege. The law-case was as exacting as before. 
Mme du Chatelet regretted Cirey as much as she 
regretted Paris ; Voltaire said they had " abandoned the 
most agreeable retirement in the country to bawl in 
the labyrinth of Flemish chicanery." Yet the days passed 
much as at Cirey, seeing few people, studying till 
evening, and supping gaily. He was at work on 
Louis XIV, but was short of material. Emilie was 
concerned with the publication of her Instilutions de 
Physique, written a couple of years before. She sent it 
to Prince Frederick, with whom she was now in regular 
correspondence, from Versailles in April 1740. Voltaire 
had remained at Brussels. " I hope and fear almost 
equally that you will have time to read it. You will 
perhaps be as much astonished to see it in print as I 
am ashamed." She told him that he would gather from 
the preface of the book that it was intended for the 
education of her only son, " whom I love with extreme 
tenderness." It began : " I have always believed that 
the most sacred duty of men was to give their children 
an education which hinders them in after-years from 
regretting their youth, which is the only time in which 
they can really learn. You are, my dear son, in that 
happy age at which the mind begins to think, and in 
which the heart has as yet none of the keener passions 
to trouble it." Voltaire had already sent Kis Me iaphy si que 
de Newton, wherein he had combated the principles of 

13 



212 An Eighteenth'-Century Marquise 

Leibnitz, which Mme du Chatelet upheld. " Perhaps 
you will be astonished that our opinions differ so much," 
she added. " It seems to me that our friendship is the 
more sure and well-founded since such differences of 
opinion cannot affect it. The liberty of the philosopher 
is as necessary as the liberty of conscience." 

Frederick found her book delightful, and that was 
saying a great deal for a work on metaphysics ; but he 
thought parts of it might have been compressed with 
advantage. Cideville wrote to her to say that the work 
was written with the elegance and grace which she com- 
municated to everything she touched. "You are capable, 
Madame, of awakening a taste for the most abstract 
sciences. . . . Can it be that the sublime author of this 
grave and dogmatic book is the adorable woman T saw 
lying in bed three months ago, whose large, fine, gentle 
eyes, dark eyebrows, charming and noble countenance,, 
ingenious and piquant intellect, cheerfulness and sallies 
of wit give us all in truth quite different things to think 
of than philosophy, and who knows how to mix sentiment 
and admiration very agreeably ? " 

Lecteur, ouvrez ce docte 6crit ; 
La physique pour nous quitte son air sauvage, 
Et vous devinierez a son charmant langage 
Que c'est Venus qui vous instruit.^ 

Unfortunately the Institutions was to cause a good deal 
of ill-feeling. Although Mme du Chdtelet referred to 
Koenig's help in her preface, the mathematician chose 
to quarrel with her because he thought she had appro- 
priated too much of his work. Voltaire was up in 

* Reader, open this learned script ; physics no longer wears a savage 
air, and you will divine from the charming style that it is Venus teaching 
you. 



A Libel and a Lawsuit 213 

arms in her defence in a moment. He could not bear 
ingratitude. He had suffered enough from it himself 
to know. He wrote a strong letter to Helvetius : 

" There are very few lords with an income of two 
hundred thousand livres who do for their relatives what 
Mme du Chatelet has done for Koenig. She looked 
after him and after his brother, lodged them, fed them, 
loaded them with presents, provided them with servants 
and carriages in Paris. I can witness that she incon- 
venienced herself considerably on their account, and in 
truth paid very well for the metaphysical romancing of 
Leibnitz with which Koenig sometimes regaled her in 
the morning. All this has ended in proceedings quite 
unworthy of him, which Mme du Chatelet, in the 
largeness of her heart, wishes to ignore." 

The obscure writer Abbe Leblanc repeated the on dit. 
He appeared to have a special knowledge of the subject, 
and referred several times in an ill-natured way to Mme 
du Chatelet, saying that her passion for Voltaire was 
made ridiculously conspicuous, and that Paris was simply 
amused by her scientific pretensions. 

" I must tell you," he wrote, " of a scene which Milady 
Newton — that is to say, Mme du Chatelet — has prepared 
for us. She has been unfaithful to this great philosopher, 
and has deserted him for Leibnitz. During her stay 
in Paris she had the Institutions de Physique printed in 
three volumes, in which she adopted the system of the 
German philosopher and refutes Newton and his disciples. 
The work is ready, and has cost her two thousand 
crowns, which she has borrowed to have it printed. But 
that which prevents her from springing it on us is that 
she quarrelled with a German geometrician who was being 
paid by her when she composed it. M. Guillaume, in 



214 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise 

V Avocat Pathelin^^ mixes the colours for his cloth with 
his dyer. The said erudite lady has done the same, they 
say. The geometrician has told the secret of the school ; 
he has sworn to me and to all those whom he has seen 
here that this work was nothing else but the lessons he 
had given her, and that, since they had appeared, he 
would claim as his all that was good, and leave to Mme 
la Marquise only the follies and extravagances which 
she had added. However that may be, when Mme du 
Chatelet arrived here, M. Kcenig (which is the name of 
the German who is called here her geometrical valei de 
chamhre) — M. Koenig, I say, was the most honest and 
at the same time the most learned man there was in 
France ; when she returned, she spread the report every- 
where that he was the most dishonest man and the most 
ignorant man that she had ever known in her life. Such 
a prompt contradiction does not appear to be in favour 
of the lady, it seems to me. The geometrician and 
she both produced documents to justify their conduct ; 
and, taking it all in all, I fear greatly that the lady 
acted very badly, and that the geometrician on his part 
conducted himself quite as badly. After all, if, as they 
said to him, she paid for his lessons, he was wrong to 
cry out about it and claim them back again." ^ 

Koenig's opinion of the work was expressed in a letter 
to Maupertuis in February 1741. " Mme du Chatelet's 
book has appeared at last. I confess to you, Monsieur, 
that one must have a mania for writing in order to dare 
to commit a foolishness of this kind. They say that it 
has already been refuted. I shall enjoy seeing how she 
will reply on such matters as she does not understand." 

* An old farce. 

^ Portefeuilles du President BouMer. 



A Libel and a Lawsuit 215 

The opportunity was soon to be given him of seeing 
how she replied upon matters she thought she understood 
very well. 

Early in 1741, Mairan, the Perpetual Secretary of the 
Academy of Sciences, addressed to Mme du Chatelet a 
letter in reply to her Institutions de Physique on the sub- 
ject of vis viva, or, as it is now termed, kinetic energy. 
It roused a wide discussion among the scientific men of 
the day. Voltaire agreed with Mairan's anti-Leibnitzian 
views, and did not defend her. " I flatter myself," he 
wrote, "that your little war with her will only serve 
to augment the esteem and friendship you have for 
one another. She was ^ little bit vexed that you should 
have reproached her for not having read your treatise 
carefully. I only wish she might have been persuaded 
by the things you say in it as easily as she read them, 
but remember, my dear and amiable philosopher, how 
difficult it is for the human mind to renounce its views. 
. . . Mme du Chatelet will not sacrifice the vis viva even 
for you." 

Her reply was dated March 26, at Brussels. In it, 
it was said, she left nothing unanswered, opposed reason- 
ing to reasoning, shafts of wit to shafts of wit, politeness 
to politeness. It is unnecessary to follow the technicalities 
of the discussion, but in the end the marquise was in the 
main victorious. 

" Mairan is aggrieved, which is quite natural," she 
wrote to d'Argental, on May 2. " He has a right 
to be so, seeing that he was wrong, and that he mixed 
personalities in a purely literary dispute. It was not 
I who began saying piquant things. The Institutions 
contains only very polite statements about him and the 
reasons against his paralogism, but in his letter there are 



2i6 An Eightecnth'Century Marquise 

only very sharp things against me and no reasons for 
his theories. Could I possibly do too much to remove 
the outrageous reproach which he made, that I had 
neither read nor understood, but had simply transcribed 
the results of another ? Is there anything more piquant 
than that, and at the same time more unjust? I quite 
realised all his malignity. Koenig's remarks have given 
reality to his reproaches, and he could not get over the 
idea that I had adorned myself with the peacock's feathers 
like the jay in the fable." 

Mme du Chatelet may have desired to ignore what 
she regarded as Koenig's perfidy, but from this letter 
it is easy to see that it hurt her none the less. Writing 
to Maupertuis from Fontainebleau in October 1740, she 
said : " They inform me from Berlin that it is an under- 
stood thing that Kcenig dictated it to me. I do not 
ask any other proof of your friendship in the matter 
of this injurious rumour than that you should tell the 
truth, for you know that my self-love is easily satisfied, 
and that I do not blush to admit the part he had in it. 
The only thing I have to blush for is to be under 
the slightest obligation to so dishonest a man." 

Maupertuis had gone to Berlin at the request of 
Prince Frederick, who had also gathered Algarotti, 
Euler, and Wolff at his Court. Eventually Maupertuis 
married one of the Court ladies-in-waiting. Later he 
quarrelled with Kcenig, with Diderot, and with Voltaire, 
who satirised him in Docteur Akakia ; but in the matter 
of the Institutions de Physique he appears to have sym- 
pathised more with Kcenig than with Emilie, and a 
breach in their friendly relations was the result. Again 
Voltaire saw that his championship was required, and was 
up in arms on her behalf. " I am grieved," he wrote 



A Libel and a Lawsuit 217 

to Maupertuls on. July 21, "to see you cold to a lady 
who, after all, is the only one who can understand you, 
and whose manner of thinking merits your friendship. 
You were made to love one another. Write to her 
(a man is always right when he puts himself in the 
wrong to please a woman) ; you will regain your friend- 
ship, because you still have her esteem." The letter 
came, but it was not all that could be desired. " You 
have written a little dryly to a person who loves and 
esteems you, if I may say so," he continued on August 9. 
" You have made her feel that she has been humiliated 
in an affair she thought she was conducting with 
generosity. She has been much afflicted." But this 
quarrel did not last long. " I do not know how to 
love nor how to be reconciled by halves," wrote Emilie. 
*' I gave all my heart to you, and I count on the sincerity 
of yours." That was one of her characteristics — she 
could do nothing by halves. 

Voltaire's two letters to Maupertuis were written from 
The Hague, whither he had gone to supervise the 
printing of the Anti-Machiavelli for Frederick, who 
had become king in May of that year, and found it 
advisable that some of his ideas on the duties of monarchs 
should be re-edited. This caused a separation of Voltaire 
from Emilie, of which she did not at all approve. She 
had tried to prevent it. It made her heart bleed, she 
wrote to Frederick, to see the human race deprived of 
such a valuable work as the Refutation de Machiavel. 
She thought it was an incomparable work, knew of 
nothing better written ; the thoughts in it were fine 
and just, and possessed all the charm of eloquence. If 
necessary, of course Voltaire would be ready to go to 
Holland and serve the king in this matter, but at the 



21 8 An Eightcenth^Century Marquise 

same time she hoped such services might be dispensed 
with. 

The correspondence — Voltaire's and Frederick's, with 
an occasional dash of Emilie — grew warmer and warmer, 
the compHments were heaped thicker and thicker, the 
jealousy — on the part of Emilie — strengthened daily, 
and she became aware that now Frederick was king and 
had no one to consider but himself she would have to 
exert all her powers to counterbalance those he was 
bringing to bear upon Voltaire. 

The Hague visit lasted about a fortnight, and Voltaire 
returned to Brussels early in August. Already there was 
talk of a meeting between the king and the poet. It 
was suggested that it should take place at Antwerp on 
September 14. Emilie begged to be present. Perhaps 
she feared Frederick's personal influence even more than 
his written invitations ; perhaps she thought such an 
interview would cause her to shine with reflected glory ; 
or perhaps she suspected the truth — which was that 
Frederick, whilst he could not help acknowledging her 
as an important factor in Voltaire's life, nevertheless 
resented her interference in his plans. Her presence 
might win him over to a fairer view of the case. Frederick 
did not hesitate to express his real feelings. He wrote to 
Voltaire from Berlin on August 5, " To speak to you 
frankly concerning her [Emilie's] journey, it is Voltaire, 
it is you, it is my friend that I desire to see, and the 
divine Emilie with all her divinity is only the accessory 
of the Newtonian Apollo." The next day he reiterated 
his wish even more forcibly : " If it must be that Emilie 
accompany Apollo, I consent ; but if I could see you 
alone, I should prefer it. I should be too much dazzled, 
I could not bear so much splendour all at once ; it would 



A Libel and a Lawsuit 219 

overpower me. I should need the veil of Moses to 
temper the united radiance of you two divinities." 

However, Voltaire, or Emilie under the name of 
Voltaire, won by insistence. The moment when Apollo 
and Venus Newton (as Frederick called her) were to see 
Marcus Aurelius in the flesh was at hand, when destiny 
stepped in and prevented such an apparent anachronism. 
Frederick had an attack of fever. He wrote on Septem- 
ber 5 from Wesel : *' If the fever does not return I shall 
be at Antwerp on Tuesday (to-morrow week), where I 
flatter myself I shall have the pleasure of seeing you with 
the marquise. It will be the most charming day of 
my life. I fear I may die of it, but at least one could 
not choose a more delightful kind of death." 

Emilie was not long kept in a state of suspense. 
Surely she must have gnashed her teeth and groaned 
about Frederick's untimely ague, which proved " to be 
more tenacious than a Jansenist," and for which the 
best cure appeared to be a visit from Voltaire alone at 
Moyland, near Cleve. " I do not know which afflicts 
me most," she wrote, " to know that your Majesty is 
ill, or to be disappointed in the hope I had of paying 
my court to you." Had she told the truth she would 
have confessed that the greatest pain she suffered was 
that Voltaire should go without her. She said as much 
to Maupertuis : *' I felt great regret in seeing M. de 
Voltaire leave, and the king ought to give me the credit 
of this sacrifice. ... I hope he will soon send back to 
me the one with whom I reckon on spending my life, and 
whom I have lent to him for a very few days only." 
Voltaire was becoming used to Emilie's appropriative 
way. He knew just the arguments she would use to 
prevent him leaving her : had he not suff^ered from them 



220 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise 

in July when he went to The Hague ? She no longer 
disguised her jealousy, her fears, her demands. She 
wanted him always by her side, almost without a soul to 
call his own. He saw alike her greatness and her petti- 
ness, her generosity and her meanness. He applauded 
and resented these respective traits. This combination 
of the infinitely large and the infinitely little would 
have amused him had it not been so irritating. She 
allowed her feelings to overpower her judgment, and 
she had lost her sense of proportion where he and his 
affairs were concerned. *' Madame," wrote Carlyle, 
summing up the position, " watches over all his interests 
and liabilities and casualties great and small ; leaping 
with her whole force into M. de Voltaire's scale of the 
balance, careless of antecedences and consequences alike ; 
flying, with the spirit of an angry brood-hen, at the face 
of mastiffs, in defence of any feather that is M. de 
Voltaire's." ^ 

It must be admitted on her side that Voltaire had done 
many things which had justified her attitude. He was 
impossibly indiscreet, child-like, emotional, and helpless 
in many ways. He had needed some one to look after 
his interests, and ought not to have blamed her for 
abusing the privileges he had at one time been only too 
ready to grant. In the disagreements of the present 
they were seriously jeopardising their future relationship. 
Voltaire was growing hardened to her appeals, Emilie 
was exhausting her passion for him in much lamentation 
and complaint. 

The invitation to Cleve being too alluring to be dis- 
regarded, Voltaire started off in the face of all Emilie's 
upbraidings. He reached Moyland on September 1 1 , 
' Carlyle, History of Frederick the Great, 




VOLTAIRE 
{After an engraving by Alix) 



A Libel and a Lawsuit 223 

and found Frederick surrounded by his little Court, 
which included Maupertuis, Algarotti and Keyserlingk. 
" I was conducted into his Majesty's apartment," he 
wrote, describing the interview in his Memoirs, " in 
which I found nothing but four bare walls. By the 
light of a candle I perceived a small truckle bed, two and 
a half feet wide, upon which lay a little man, wrapped up 
in a morning-gown of blue cloth. It was his Majesty, 
who lay sweating and shaking beneath a beggarly coverlet 
in a violent fit of ague. I made my bow, and began my 
acquaintance by feeling his pulse as if I had been his 
first physician." 

Fortunately the attack was over by supper-time, and 
the kindred spirits were able to discuss the immortality 
of the soul, liberty, Plato, and a thousand subjects dear 
to their heart with a freedom that Emilie's presence 
would certainly have fettered. 

Voltaire was in his element. He wrote his impressions 
of the visit to Maupertuis. *' When we parted at Cleve, 
and you went to the right and I to the left, I felt as 
though I were at the last judgment, when the good God 
separates the elect from the damned. Divus Fredericus 
said to you, ' Sit at my right hand in the Paradise of 
Berlin,' and to me, * Go, thou cursed one, to Holland.' 
I am now in this phlegmatic hell, far from the divine 
fire which animates the Fredericks, the Maupertuis, the 
Algarottis." 

The king, too, had been charmed. His favourite 
poet had recited the admirable tragedy Mahomet, and 
carried them all off their feet with the eloquence of it. 
" The du Chatelet is lucky to have him," he wrote to 
Jordan. 

It was not till the close of 1740 that the real blow 



224 An Eightcenth^Century Marquise 

fell upon the divine Emilie — that Voltaire escaped and 
went to Berlin. In October he had returned to The 
Hague and installed himself in the King's old palace, 
still busying himself with the Anti-Machiavelli. Mme 
du Chatelet went to Fontainebleau in the meantime. 
She wished to look after Voltaire's interests at Court. 
On the 2oth of the month the Emperor Charles VI died, 
and Frederick's ideas of sustaining peace vanished in 
smoke. Early in November Voltaire started for Reins- 
berg, accompanied by Dumolard, librarian-elect to 
Frederick. They passed through Herford, where the 
carriage broke down, and Voltaire rode into the town 
on horseback. He was attired far too gaily for equestrian 
exercises. " Who goes there ? " said the sentinel at the 
gate. " Don Quixote," responded Voltaire lightly. 
From Reinsberg he went to Berlin, from Berlin to 
Potsdam, and then through Wesel, Cleve, and The 
Hague l^ack to Brussels, where Emilie had worked 
herself into a state of hysteria and fever on account of 
his absence. He had left Berlin on December 2 or 3. 
He did not reach Brussels until January 2 or 3, owing 
to bad roads and the floods, and contrary winds which 
assailed him as he travelled by boat along the coast. 

For twelve days whilst he was on the water Emilie 
had had no news of him. She was mad with anxiety. 
To the sorrow of his absence had been added the dread 
of such a fatiguing, not to say perilous, voyage. But 
at last he arrived. " All my troubles are over," she 
wrote to d'Argental, " and he swears to me that it is 
for ever." Meanwhile, Voltaire's version of his return 
to Frederick was not quite so complimentary to the 
divine Emilie. He had torn himself away from the 
most delightful court in Europe for the sake of a law- 



A Libel and a Lawsuit 225 

suit, not at all " to sigh like a love-sick fool at the knees 
of a woman " — even of a woman who had abandoned 
everything for him, and to whom he owed every possible 
obligation. He felt virtuous, too, because Frederick had 
begged him to stay two days longer and this he had 
refused. *' I do not say that from vanity," he wrote 
to d'Argental ; " it is nothing to boast of ; but it is 
necessary at least that my guardian angel should know 
that I did my duty. Mme du Chatelet was never placed 
more above kings." 

Emilie found some crumbs of comfort in this. She 
mentioned it to d'Argental, and added plainly her senti- 
ments about Frederick. " He does not understand 
certain attachments. One can only believe that he him- 
self would care more for his friends. There is nothing 
he has not done to retain ours, and I believe he is annoyed 
with me. But I defy him to hate me more than I have 
hated him during the last two months. There : you will 
agree it is a pleasant rivalry," Poor Voltaire, however, 
found it quite the reverse. He did not see the delight 
of being fought over, and perhaps Emilie might have 
relaxed her energetic hold had she heard the word ** duty '* 
so often on his lips instead of " love." 

As for Frederick, he smiled a meaning smile, and 
wrote to Jordan that he thought the seduction of Berlin 
was more than Voltaire could resist, the more so because 
the marquise's purse was not so long as his own. Well, 
well, kings must be allowed to be cynics, and Frederick 
had just then paid well for his cynicism, because Voltaire 
had sent him in a bill for his journey amounting to 
thirteen hundred crowns — "not bad wages for a king's 
jester ! " 

But when his idol was determined to invade Silesia 



226 An Eightecnth'Century Marquise 

Voltaire was a little disappointed, and Emilie rejoiced 
at what she looked upon as a point gained to herself. 
'* What does it matter how many provinces he takes," 
she cried, " as long as he does not rob me of my 
happiness ! " 

In the early months of 1741 Voltaire was working at 
Mahomet^ which was performed at Lille, where he and 
Emilie went to stay with Mme Denis in April. In May 
they were back at Brussels. Towards the end of the 
year they were in Paris. They paid a short visit to 
Cirey in January, and then returned to Brussels. 

One of the interests of this year was getting the fine 
Hotel Lambert ready for occupation. It was situated 
on the He Saint-Louis. Voltaire took his share of the 
expenses. He described the house to Sir Everard 
Falkener, who was then at Constantinople, saying that it 
was one of the finest buildings in Paris, and placed 
in a position worthy of the Bosphorus, for it looked 
upon the river, and a long tract of land interspersed with 
pretty houses was to be seen from every window. 

The Hotel Lambert was built for M. Lambert de 
Thorigny, President of the Chamber of Requests ; the 
architect was Levau. One of the most beautiful features 
of the interior was a monumental stairway. The first talk 
of the purchase occurred in 1738, but it was not till the 
end of March 1739 that the Hotel was bought from 
the farmer-general Dupin at a cost of two hundred 
thousand francs. Four years later the residence became 
once more the property of its former owners. Mme du 
Chatelet's feminine excitement at owning one of the most 
beautiful hotels in Paris was but a short-lived reality. It 
was not ready for occupation until 1742. On July 18 
of that year President Henault wrote to Mme du 



A Libel and a Lawsuit 227 

Deffand : " Mme du Chatelet is in her new house." 
She had then been there about three months, but by 
the end of the same year she returned to the more 
famiHar hotel in the Faubourg Saint-Honore. The 
exact cause of this removal is not certain. Voltaire had 
committed a new indiscretion, which perhaps had some- 
thing to do with it. " The poor du Chatelet," wrote 
President Henault to Mme du Deffand, " ought to have 
a clause in the lease of all the houses she rents, that 
she will fulfil every part of the agreement except when 
Voltaire plays the fool during the period " ; and again : 
" She appears to me to be overcome with grief at the 
adventure of Voltaire." 

The truth was that a letter was being talked of in 
Paris, " as mad a one as possible," which Voltaire had 
written to the King of Prussia. In it he expressed 
approval of Frederick's decision to make peace. All 
Paris disapproved, because Frederick's action was very 
anti-French. Voltaire, in his usual nonchalant manner, 
swore that he knew nothing about it ; he had, it was 
true, answered the King of Prussia's letters, but no one, 
not even the fair Emilie, had seen what he had written, 
and there was nothing in it resembling the one every one 
was discussing. He was accused of lack of patriotism. 
Mme de Mailly, who was usually good-natured, gave 
vent to uncontrollable anger, and demanded that he 
should be punished as a public example. Voltaire 
replied to her with a demand for an interview to prove 
to her that he was still a good citizen. All this had 
happened whilst Voltaire was on the verge of a great 
success with Mahomet. It considerably prejudiced his 
interests. The police reported the affair in August : 

*' The tragedy which Voltaire was to have produced this 



228 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise 

week gives cause for public reflection on this author. 
It appears that he is generally decried. People are 
persuaded that the letter to the King of Prussia, which 
he repudiated, was certainly written by him. They cite 
M. de la Reyniere, who has had it in his hands, and who 
gave it to M. le Cardinal.^ They report that Voltaire, 
having been to exculpate himself in the eyes of Mme de 
Mailly, was very badly received, and that all those who 
have protected him so far have not wished to be mixed 
up in this affair. In spite of the protection of Mme la 
Duchesse de Luxembourg, they say she has forbidden 
hirh her door, as well as all other people of importance 
have done. Mme du Chatelet is regarded with eyes 
equally severe. They think it extraordinary that a 
woman of quality should lead by the hand a man who 
has become the object of general distrust. They say 
derisively that it will be well to guard against seeing 
her — that she has too much wit, and that she can 
remain with Voltaire, who ought to be all the world 
to her. They will no longer spare her on the score of 
gallantry." 

Nor was Voltaire's play spared. It was summarily 
withdrawn after four performances, being declared in- 
famous, wicked, and blasphemous, no doubt through 
the agency of the usual cabal, of which Piron and 
Desfontaines were active members. Voltaire, disappointed 
and ill, departed suddenly for Brussels on the 22nd, 
accompanied by Mme du Chatelet. They were still 
mystified as to how the contents of the unfortunate 
letter had become public property. Mme du Deffand 
believed a supernatural agency had been at work. 
Frederick blamed the post-office officials at Brussels, 

1 Fleury. 



A Libel and a Lawsuit 229 

but the truth was that the letter had been opened and 
copied at Paris. 

In September Voltaire paid a rush visit to Frederick 
at Aix-la-Chapelle. As he had been ill, Emilie for once 
encouraged him in taking a short holiday. " He did 
not abuse his liberty," she wrote to d'Argental on 
October 10, "because he left on Monday and returned 
on Saturday." The king gave him as magnificent 
presents as before. He also offered him a fine house 
in Berlin, and a pretty estate. Voltaire replied that he 
preferred to dwell in the second story of Mme du 
Chatelet's house. 

The following month she had an astonishing piece 
of news to communicate to the same correspondent. 
"The King of Prussia has written to M. de Voltaire 
to beg him to come to Berlin at the end of November 
or beginning of December. He has refused ; but I 
assure you that it does not appear to me to have the 
merit of a sacrifice." 

In the spring of 1743 Mme du Chatelet completed the 
arrangements for the marriage of her daughter Pauline to 
the elderly and none too charming Due de Montenegro- 
Caraffa. Voltaire described him as " a Neapolitan with 
a big nose, a thin face, and a hollow chest." The 
marriage had been discussed for some time previously. 
Mme du Chatelet wrote to Frederick in May 1743, a 
few weeks after the wedding, to inform him that it 
had taken place. She said shrewdly that if her prayers 
had been heard, her daughter would have spent the 
remainder of her life at /;/; Court, and that that would 
have been a happiness of which she would have been 
envious. 

Within a month or two she exclaimed openly that the 

14 



230 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise 

King of Prussia was a very dangerous rival as far as she 
was concerned. Voltaire, having failed to obtain a seat 
in the Academy, and his tragedy Julius Casar having 
been refused representation, made these things an excuse 
for secret negotiations with Frederick, and left Paris on 
June 14, 1743, to carry out a special mission in Berlin. 
Emilie was in despair. The police report said that " all 
Paris was laughing at the tears which Mme du Chatelet 
shed on learning of Voltaire's resolution to go to 
Prussia " ; and she wept still more because she did not 
receive many letters from him. 

Voltaire described the reason of his journey in his 
Memoirs : 

*' The house of Austria rose from its ashes into new 
life ; France was pressed hard by her and by England ; 
and we had no resource left but in the King of Prussia, 
who had led us into this war, and who abandoned us 
in our necessity. They conceived the design of sending 
secretly to sound the intentions of this monarch, and 
try if he was not in a humour to prevent the storm." 

Richelieu and the Duchesse de Chateauroux conceived 
the idea of sending Voltaire ; the king fell in with it, and 
M. Amelot, Minister for Foreign Affairs, agreed. Voltaire 
was charged to hasten his departure. He wrote to 
Frederick that he had been persecuted by the Bishop 
of Mirepoix in the affair of the Academy, and that he 
desired to take refuge with a king. Boyer always signed 
himself I'anc. de Mirepoix. Voltaire read the abbrevia- 
tion for Vancien as V dne. His revilings upon the head 
of the " ass of Mirepoix " were fast and furious. 

Voltaire had the pleasure of revenging himself upon 
the bishop who had helped to exclude him from the 
Academy by enjoying a delightful journey, and serving 



A Libel and a Lawsuit 231 

the king and the State. Maurepas, who ruled Amelot, 
also entered into the project with warmth. 

" The most singular part of this business was that 
we were obliged to let Mme du Ch^telet into the secret," 
wrote Voltaire in his Memoirs. " There was not, in her 
opinion, anything in the world so unmanly, or so abomin- 
able, as for a man to leave a woman to go and live with 
a king ; and she would have made a mos<- dreadful 
tumult had they not agreed that, to appease her, she 
should be informed of the reason, and that the letters 
should all pass through her hands." If she was aware 
of the wire-pulling that had led to the journey she 
greatly disapproved of, others were not. A letter from 
Mme de Tencin on this subject throws a confused light 
upon the negotiations, and a clearer one upon the 
relations between herself and .Emilie. It was written 
to Richelieu on June 17, 1743. 

" It is necessary that I should give you a confidence, 
of which I beg you to guard the secret. I should not 
like to grieve Mme du Chatelet, and I should do so 
deeply if what I am going to tell you were divulged 
by some one who could have heard it from her. This 
is it. They have reported that Voltaire was exiled, or 
at least that, in the fear of being so, he took flight. But 
the truth of the matter is that Amelot and Maurepas 
sent him to Prussia to sound the intentions of the King 
of Prussia on our behalf. . . . Mme du Chatelet would 
tell you this assuredly, if you were here ; but would 
not write it, in the fear that her letters might be read. 
She believes that Voltaire will be lost if the secret 
escapes through any fault of hers. . . . Above all, let 
Voltaire and Mme du Chatelet believe that you have 
learnt of this matter through the pet its cabinets.'" 



232 An Eighteenth^Ccntury Marquise 

Doubtless Richelieu laughed in his sleeve when he 
received this effusion. The chief cause of it was far 
from laughing. 

" I am in inexpressible affliction," wrote Mme du 
Chatelet to d'Argenson on August 28. "It is fearful, 
after three months of trouble, to be no further advanced 
than on the first day." She had been trying to get 
Caesar played, in the hope that such an event would 
hasten Voltaire's return. On October 10 she wrote to 
d'Argental from Lille, that she had at last received a 
letter from Voltaire, but that it was only four lines long. 
" It is clear from this letter that he has not written me 
for a fortnight. He does not speak of his return. What 
things to reproach him with, and how far his heart seems 
from mine ! " And then she said she was counting upon 
him, and upon his wife and his brother, to tell Voltaire 
how barbarous it was of him to expose her to such proofs 
of her love. If he was not costing her her life, her 
health was certainly suffering. Such a test was affecting 
it noticeably. "But if only I can see him again," she 
concluded, " all my griefs and ills will be cured." 

Mme de Tencin wrote again on November 18 to the 
duke that Mme du Chatelet had completely lost her 
head, that she had gone to Lille in order to be more in 
touch with news from Voltaire, and that she felt quite 
sorry for her afflictions. " I shall not speak any more of 
the princess to you," she concluded ; " it won't do to 
quarrel with her for the reason I have given you." 
Mme de Tencin, who was above all an intriguer, was 
intent on discovering something about the negotiations 
with Prussia from Mme du Chatelet, the " singular 
princess " who was " quite mad," but amused and 
irritated her by turns. She tried to make friends with 



A Libel and a Lawsuit 233 

her and worm out her secret, but all to no purpose ; 
the du Chatelet and her lover remained bound to 
Maurepas, and knew no better than to be his slaves. 

In the midst of feasts, operas, and suppers the secret 
negotiation went forward at Berlin. But Frederick was too 
shrewd to make promises. At last he said : " Let France 
declare war against England, and I will march." Voltaire 
then returned to France. He had been away five months. 
Where was his promise only to stay ten days at the 
utmost ? He had remained a fortnight at Bayreuth, *' a 
dehcious retreat " ; he had been well entertained at 
Brunswick "with twenty dishes and admirable wines"; 
indeed, his journey had appeared celestial — a " passing 
from planet to planet." Moreover he had spent an extra 
fortnight at Berlin on his return journey. " Perhaps he 
would spend his whole life there," was Emilie's complaint 
to d'Argental. " I should feel sure of it if 1 did not 
know that his affairs of necessity call him back to Paris. 
He only wrote me four lines in a cabaret without explain- 
ing his reasons for going to Bayreuth, nor for his long 
silence," For two months she had had to learn of his 
whereabouts from ambassadors and gazettes. She had 
been dreadfully ill — she had had fever, a pain between her 
shoulders and in her right side, and a racking cough. 
She believed her chest was weak, and that she might 
die of consumption like poor Mme de Richelieu, who 
had succumbed to the same complaint in 1740. Her 
woes were endless, her letters a long sigh of reproach 
and grief at Voltaire's careless disregard of her feelings. 
" I have been cruelly paid for all thut I did at Fontaine- 
bleau," she wrote in another letter. " I procured for 
M. de Voltaire an honourable return to his own country. 
I reopened the way to the Academy for him ; in short, 



234 An Eightecnth'Century Marquise 

in three weeks I undid all the harm that he had done 
in six years." And all this zeal and proof of her attach- 
ment had only resulted in this horrible journey to Berlin. 
He did not deserve to set eyes on her alive again. This 
idea filled her with self-pity. What fearful grief Voltaire 
would experience when the intoxication with which the 
Court of Berlin had inspired him should die out and 
nothing be left to him ! She could not bear to think that 
some day the memory of her would be his torture. 

Voltaire, it must be confessed, had thoroughly enjoyed 
his diplomatic role. It had been one long fete. " Through 
all," he wrote, *' my secret mission went forward." But 
he was not to reap the reward. Soon after his return 
M. Amelot fell into bad odour with the reigning favour- 
ite, Mme de Chateauroux, and was dismissed. Voltaire 
was included in his disgrace. Emilie, disappointing as 
it must have been, was inured to many worries of a 
similar nature, and hardly realised this one in her joy 
at the return of her poet. In November they were 
together in Paris, from thence they went to Brussels for 
another spell of law-suit, and then, in the early spring, to 
Cirey — en Filicite — where all was bright again. " I am 
once more in charming Cirey," she wrote to d'Argental; 
*' it is more charming than ever. Your friend appears 
enchanted to be here." The sun was shining very 
brightly indeed, for the time being, on the love affairs 
of the marquise and the philosopher. President Henault, 
who spent a long day with them in July, bore witness to 
their bliss. He was on his way to Plombieres, and came 
in response to an invitation from Voltaire. 

" I went through Cirey, where Mme du Chatelet 
and Voltaire invited me. I found them alone, except 
for a pere minime, a great geometrician and professor 



A Libel and a Lawsuit 235 

of philosophy at Rome. If one wished to draw a 
delightful picture of a delicious retreat, an asylum 
of peace, of union, of calmness of soul, of amenity, of 
talents, of reciprocity of esteem, of the attractions of 
philosophy joined to the charms of poetry, one should 
paint Cirey. A building simple and elegant de rez-de- 
chaussee^ with cabinets filled with mechanical and chemical 
instruments. Voltaire in his bed beginning, continuing 
and completing works of all kinds." The pere minime 
whom he found on the second floor was Father Fran9ois 
Jacquier, who a few years earlier had published Newton's 
Mathematical Principles of Natural Philosophy with com- 
ments. He had gone to Cirey to finish a scientific 
treatise. Henault also described his pleasant visit to Cirey 
to Comte d'Argenson; and Emilie wrote to d'Argental, 
" I assure you that I was very pleased to show my house 
to the president, and that I enjoyed the astonishment 
it gave him." 

They had had a reading of the Princesse de Navarre^ 
which Voltaire was writing for the marriage of the 
Dauphin. " The president and I cried," wrote Emilie, 
describing the beauties of the third act. Voltaire did 
not feel so convinced about the success of the piece. 
" It will make the dauphin and dauphine yawn," he said 
humorously to d'Argental ; " but it may amuse you, 
for Mme du Chatelet likes it, and you are worthy to 
think as she does." The piece gave him an enormous 
amount of trouble. " How to amuse them ? How to 
make them laugh ? " he had written of the royalties 
for whose entertainment he was providing. " I to be 
working for a Court ! I am afraid of writing nothing 
but nonsense. One only writes well when one delights 
in the choice of a subject." 



236 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise 

Voltaire and Emilie remained at Cirey till September, 
the former polishing and re-polishing the Princesse de 
Navarre. Then they came up to Champs-sur-Marne, a 
place within five leagues of Paris, for the celebrations 
which took place on the king's recovery from an 
illness. 

On September 14 Voltaire wrote to Renault to tell him 
of a characteristic little action of Mme du Chatelet's, and 
that all unwittingly he had done her a great service and 
saved her much discomfort. They had been driving 
into Paris, and between the Croix des Petits Champs and 
the Hotel de Charost had come upon a block of some 
two thousand carriages waiting in three rows to proceed. 
There were cries from two or three thousand pedestrians 
among the carriages, drunken men, hand-to-hand fights, 
" fountains of wine and tallow pouring on to every one," 
the mounted patrol increasing the confusion ; and to make 
the matter worse. His Royal Highness Louis Philippe, 
Due de Chartres, was returning calmly to the Palais - 
Royal with his great carriages, his guards, his pages ; 
and nobody could advance or retreat until three o'clock 
in the morning. Their driver had never been in Paris 
before. Mme du Chatelet was covered with diamonds. 
She stepped out, crying for help, pushed through the 
crowd without being robbed or mobbed, entered Henault's 
house, sent for a roast chicken from the cook-shop at the 
corner, and, concluded Voltaire, " we drank your health 
gaily at your own house, to which all the world wishes 
you would return." 

At the beginning of January 1745 Voltaire went to 
Versailles, and stayed at the Hotel de Villeray in order 
to be present at the rehearsals of La Princesse de 
Navarre. " Don't you pity a poor devil," he wrote 



A Libel and a Lawsuit 237 

to CidevilJe, " who is the king's fool at the age of fifty, 
and who is more embarrassed with musicians, decorators, 
comedians, singers, dancers, than eight or nine electors 
would be in making a German Caesar." This had a 
reference to the death of Charles VIL "I run from 
Paris to Versailles, I make verses in the post-chaise. It 
is necessary to praise the king highly, the dauphine 
prettily, the royal family gently, please the whole court 
and not displease the town." 

The representation took place on February 23 in a 
specially constructed hall. The king and all the royal 
family were present. All the arrangements for this 
magnificent fete had been carried out by Richelieu. On 
the whole it was a success. Voltaire obtained more from 
it than he had hoped : the brevet of historiographer of 
France was delivered to him on April i, 1745, and 
he received a pension of 2,000 livres as well as the 
promise of a post as Gentleman of the Chamber as soon 
as a vacancy should occur. 

No sooner was Voltaire appointed historiographer than 
he set to work on his Histoire de la Guerre de 1741. 
This was remodelled later for the Precis du Steele de 
Louis XV. 

Only one other event of importance occurred in the 
spring of 1745. Mme du Chatelet's son had been taken 
ill with the smallpox, and Voltaire accompanied Emilie to 
Chalons to nurse him. *' That is all one can do," he 
wrote. " One is only a spectator of the ignorant tyranny 
of the doctors." However, Voltaire knew a good deal of 
the dread disease, and more than twenty years earlier had 
written a long letter of advice on the subject to Emilie's 
father. Now, by dint of much lemon-water and other 
common-sense measures he succeeded in saving her son. 



238 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise 

Alas ! that it was for no better fate than the scaffold 
during the Revolution. 

In the autumn, as usual, Mme du Chatelet accom- 
panied the Court to Fontainebleau, and Voltaire went 
too. De Luynes, in his Journal, tells a story of Emilie's 
ill-timed arrogance. 

" The queen arrived between six and seven o'clock, 
the king three-quarters of an hour later from Choisy. 
The queen had three carriages, without counting those 
of the equerries. Mme de Luynes and Mme de Villars, 
Mme la Duchesse de Boufflers and Mme de Bouzols 
were in the queen's carriage. Mmes de Montauban, 
de Fitz-James, de Flavacourt, and du Chatelet were in 
the others. Mme du Chatelet had begged the queen a 
few days previously to have the honour of accompanying 
her on this journey. She told Mme de Luynes after- 
wards that she feared her health would not permit her 
to take advantage of the queen's kindness ; but at 
length, the evening before the journey, she sent word 
that she would certainly be at Versailles before the de- 
parture of Her Majesty. She arrived in effect a quarter 
of an hour before Marie Leczinska stepped into her 
carriage. They say that Mme du Chatelet (Breteuil), 
puffed up with the grandeur which pertains to the house 
of du Chatelet, and the prerogatives which she regards as 
her due, desires to be considered first on all occasions 
and to take first place. No one could have more ^"- 
tellectual gifts than she, nor more scientific knowledge. 
She knows even the most abstract sciences, and has com- 
posed a book which has been published. She is so clever 
that she sometimes has fits of abstraction, and the prejudice 
against her makes people attribute her preoccupation to 
haughtiness, of which she is frequently accused. 




EMILIE GABRIELLE DU CHATELET 

{From an old engraving) 



239 



A Libel and a Lawsuit 241 

" The queen started immediately after Mass, Mme 
du Chatelet stepped forward first of all for the second 
carriage. She stepped in and placed herself in it com- 
fortably, then asked the other three ladies whether they 
would get in. These three ladies, shocked by her manner, 
left her alone in the second carriage and went into the 
third. Mme du Chatelet, slightly embarrassed, wished 
to get out again to join the other ladies. The valet told 
her the third carriage was full. So she travelled the 
whole way alone." 

This is a delightfully characteristic glimpse of the 
divine Emilie. She wished greatly to repair her error, 
and begged Richelieu to ask Mme de Luynes to express 
her excuses to the Queen and try to explain away the 
awkwardness of her behaviour. The queen received 
Mme du Chatelet's excuses kindly, and no more was said 
of the affair. But on November 19, when the return 
journey was made, Mme du Chatelet took good care not 
to be alone in a carriage again. 

Early in the following year an important addition was 
made to Mme du Chatelet's household in the person of 
Longchamp, who left memoirs which are valuable if not 
always reliable dealing with the more intimate aspect of 
the life of the divine Emilie and her poet. 

This same Longchamp, who later became secretary, 
valet, and copyist to Voltaire, was at first employed by 
Mme du Chatelet. His sister had been her maid, and 
she suggested the post of maitre d^ hotel for her brother. 
Longchamp arrived in Paris in January 1746, and went 
to Mme du Chatelet's house, where he was expected. 
She rang for him as well as her maid when she dressed 
in the morning, and this offended his sense of propriety. 
He was not easily shocked, but according to his views 



242 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise 

she was not sufficiently circumspect. His sister assured 
him that her mistress hardly regarded a man-servant as 
a human being, and that he was to feel no embarrassment. 
When it came to fetching boiling water for her bath, 
however, and she took no more notice of him than if he 
had been the kettle that contained it, he decided she had 
gone too far, and declared that he could never accustom 
himself to such freedom on the part of the mistresses he 
served. 

For five or six months he remained in Mme du Ch^te- 
let's household, but did not find the work sufficient to 
keep him fully occupied. Her chief meal in the day was 
supper — indeed, it was the only substantial one — and for 
this she was often out. Her dejeuner consisted of coffee 
and cream with a roll. There was very little indeed for 
her maitre d'hotel to provide, and not much cooking in 
the house. During the months of his service Mme du 
Chatejet only gave ten or twelve supper-parties, and then 
there were not many guests, but few dishes and less wine. 
Nor was the cellar as well furnished as Longchamp would 
have liked to see it. The wine-merchant sent in a couple 
of dozen bottles at a time, half of it red wine, misnamed 
Burgundy — it was manufactured in Paris — and the other 
half white, styled champagne, and no more genuine than 
the other. When this quantity was finished it was 
supplied afresh. 

" My chief work," continued Longchamp, " was to 
provide other things for the household, such as wood> 
light, and forage. I was supposed to see that nothing 
was wanting in the rooms, offices, or stables. Madame 
did not supply food for her servants, but gave them 
money instead. I had to pay them every fortnight — her 
coachman, her two lackeys, and her cook at twenty sous 



A Libel and a Lawsuit 243 

per day ; her Swiss, her m^id, and myself at thirty sous 
per day. Besides, I had the remains from the table, 
which I shared with my sister. I was soon tired of the 
monotonous life I led in the service of Mme du Chatelet, 
where the greater part of the day I had to be idle. My 
duties did not take nearly all my time. I sought for 
some occupation which would dispel my boredom, and I 
found one I liked very well. M. de Voltaire lodged in 
the same house, as well as his secretary. I struck up 
a friendship with the latter. When the work of the 
household was done, and I had nothing else to do, I 
went up to the secretary's room. He gave me works 
of M. de Voltaire to read, and seeing that I wrote very 
well, he begged me to help him in copying out the 
author's MSS. This greatly interested me, and when 
Mme du Chatelet was from home, which happened fre- 
quently, I passed almost entire days in this occupation. 
M. de Voltaire found me there one day, and knowing 
that I was attached to the service of Mme du Chatelet 
and a dweller in the house, he did not in the least object. 
He examined my writing, and I perceived that it pleased 
him. . . . But at the end of a few months I had to drop 
this occupation, as well as to leave Mme du Chatelet's 
employ. I was hurt by an injustice she had done my 
sister, and made her leave as well. Some weeks later 
there was an even greater loss to her household. It 
was when the journey to Fontainebleau took place. 
Mme du Chatelet usually went there, for she had the 
right to a tabouret^ and took part in the queen's card 
games. At the moment when she was ready to start for 
Fontainebleau, all her servants left, because they said 
living was dearer there than at Paris. They complained 
of her economy and their low wages. Only a maid she 



244 An Eighteenth^Ccntury Marquise 

had had for a few days stayed with her. She had put 
M. de Voltaire's servants on the same footing as her 
own, and they left also. As an additional trouble, his 
secretary had been taken violently ill, and had left." 

It was then that Voltaire sent for Longchamp and 
asked him if he would go to Fontainebleau, and appointed 
him to be his secretary. 

This happened in the October of 1746. Voltaire 
remained unmoved by these domestic upheavals. The 
presence of Longchamp insured a continuance of his 
work, he had won a seat in the Academy in the spring 
of that year, he had been appointed Gentleman of the 
Chamber to Louis XV, and he was the favourite of 
Mme de Pompadour. His heart was therefore content. 
Life had assumed a new and successful aspect. Emilie 
shared in his triumphs. Thus passed the spring of 1747. 
Perhaps the new honours were found to be a little exact- 
ing. It was something of a relief when in August an 
invitation arrived from the Duchesse du Maine, inviting 
them both to her incomparable Court. 



CHAPTER VIII 

SCEAUX AND ANET 

THE Duchesse du Maine had a kind heart. She 
shielded Mme du DefFand when the breach 
between herself and her husband imperilled her reputa- 
tion ; she afforded Voltaire a refuge and sanctuary when 
he offended against the canons of good taste and had to 
flee from Fontainebleau ; she welcomed the divine Emilie 
at Sceaux and Anet, in spite of her exacting demands on 
her hospitality, and she generally allowed herself to be 
imposed upon by her friends, asking nothing from them 
except to be spared as much ennui as possible if they did 
not contribute actively to her amusement. 

She was an odd little figure, the Duchesse du Maine, 
but she played no inconsiderable part in the social affairs 
of France during the first half of the eighteenth century. 
In appearance, in habits, and in character she was ex- 
ceptional. Her court was one of the most frivolous of 
the period, though not so corrupt as some ; it had pre- 
tensions to preciosity, and only succeeded in being finical ; 
it was formed to be a model of fashion and culture, and 
was in reality a carnival in which glitter and tinsel did 
duty for more solid qualities. It was divided into two 
distinct sections by an outburst of political activity on the 
part of its hostess and her husband, which ended in the 
imprisonment of both, and made a break of more than 

two years in Mme du Maine's social life. Mme du 

245 



246 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise 

Chatelet played a part in the second half of the court, 
which was as interesting, though not as brilliant and 
luxurious, as the earlier period. 

The inception of the Court of Sceaux may be said to 
have taken rise in a not unnatural desire on the part 
of the Due du Maine to take to himself a wife. He 
appealed to the King, his father, in the first instance, and 
Louis XIV told him frankly that he thought it highly 
undesirable that his legitimated sons should establish a 
household of their own. Then he confided in Mme 
de Maintenon, whose favourite he had been ever since 
she received him in charge from the hands of his mother, 
Mme de Montespan. A discussion took place, and owing 
to the favourite's influence the Due du Maine so far 
made his point as to be allowed to choose one of the 
daughters of the Prince de Conde. Three were eligible 
at that moment — Anne- Marie- Victoire, Mile de Cond6, 
Anne-Louise-Benedicite, Mile de Charolais, and Marie- 
Anne, Mile d'Enghien. Their names were far more 
imposing than their persons. They were all exceedingly 
tiny, almost dwarfs. The Duchesse de Bourbon, their 
eldest sister, who had had the good fortune to outgrow 
the others, called them poupees du sang. There was little 
enough to choose between the three of them. One had 
a scrap more intellect, one an inch more height than the 
others. The Due du Maine thought he had quite enough 
intellect for two, and chose the inch, which belonged to 
Mile de Charolais. 

If we are to believe Elisabeth-Charlotte de Baviere, he 
did not choose very wisely. " Mme du Maine," she said, 
" is not taller than a child ten years old, and is not well 
made." She had one arm shorter than the other, but it 
was not for the Due du Maine to complain of that, for 



Sceaux and Anet 247 

his own legs were not a good pair. " To appear tolerably 
well," continued Madame, " it is necessary for her to keep 
her mouth shut ; for when she opens it, she opens it 
very wide, and shows her irregular teeth. She is not 
very stout, uses a great quantity of paint, has fine eyes, a 
white skin, and fair hair. If she were well disposed she 
might pass, but her wickedness is insupportable." The 
sting of the description is in its tail ; perhaps devilry 
would have been a more appropriate word to use than 
wickedness, for Mme du Maine's ever-changing moods 
made any continuous evil impossible for her. 

The marriage was referred to in a letter written by 
Mme de Sevigne in April 1685, but did not take place 
until March 1692, when Mile de Charolais won her 
emancipation through a wedding which had all the eclat 
due to that of a king's son. She meant to claim as 
much attention wherever she went, for the rest of her 
natural existence. As Duchesse du Maine she cast aside 
every Hmitation, and appeared in her true character, the 
predominating quality of which was a sublime daring. 
Her first sign of revolt was against the influence of Mme 
de Maintenon, who had always ruled the duke. She 
railed against piety, and was free — for piety was essential 
to any one with whom Mme de Maintenon cared to have 
dealings of any kind. Then the duchess went a step 
further : she showed her contempt for all the forms 
of etiquette which obtained at Court, refused to play 
second fiddle to anybody, subjected many who were of 
importance to snubs and indignities, her own husband 
being treated most shamefully of all, and, in short, 
established a reputation for autocracy of the worst kind. 
Ability and intellect were not wanting to support this 
attitude. The Due du Luynes' estimate of her was, 

15 



248 An Eighteenth^Ccntury Marquise 

perhaps, too flattering. He said : *' She has a superior 
and universal mind, strong lungs, and excellent eloquence. 
She has studied the most abstract sciences — philosophy, 
physics and astronomy. She was able to discuss any 
topic like a person who was well informed and has good 
choice of language. Her voice was loud and strong, and 
she could converse in the same high tone for three or 
four hours without fatigue. Novels and light literature 
interested her equally." He omits to mention, however, 
the erratic moods, which destroyed much of the value of 
these gifts. 

Mme de Staal, who had the best of all opportunities 
for studying her mistress, draws a less prepossessing 
picture : " Her nature is impetuous and unequal. She 
flies into a temper and is distressed, grows angry and 
is appeased twenty times in a quarter of an hour. Often 
she rouses herself from the deepest melancholy, and gives 
way to a fit of gaiety, in which she is most amiable. Her 
humour is noble, keen and light, her memory is extra- 
ordinary. She speaks eloquently, but with too much 
vehemence and prolixity. It was impossible to carry on 
a conversation with her ; she did not care to be under- 
stood, she only wished to be heard. Nor did she take 
into account the wit, the talents, the defects and the 
absurdities of those who surrounded her. They said of 
her that she had not only never left her house, but that 
she had not even put her head out of the window. 

" She spent her days in devising pleasures and amuse- 
ments of every kind. She spared neither care nor 
expense to render her court agreeable and brilliant. In 
short, Mme la Duchesse du Maine is of a temperament 
of which it may be said, without exceeding the truth, 
that it is composed of much good and much evil. She 




THE DUCHESSE DU MAINE 
Who held her brilliant court at Sceaux and Anet 



249 



Sceaux and Anet 251 

has haughtiness without pride, extravagance without 
generosity, religion without piety, a great opinion of 
herself without contempt for others, much erudition 
without much wisdom, and all the outward appearance of 
friendship without the inner sentiment." 

Intelligent as she was, Mme du Maine's vision was 
peculiarly circumscribed. She regarded Sceaux as the 
centre of the universe, herself as its deity, and every- 
thing outside as of relatively little importance. She first 
established her court at Sceaux in 1700, the Due du 
Maine having bought the estate from the Marquis de 
Seignelay. The chateau had been built by Perrault for 
Colbert, and was beautifully situated amidst woods, water 
and pasture-land. Mme du Maine had previously 
gathered her circle of friends round her in a more modest 
establishment at Clagny, but she found Versailles too 
near for her comfort and privacy, she was overshadowed 
and supervised by the Court, and was glad when she was 
able to move to an atmosphere less laden with the con- 
ventional *' Thou shalts and thou shalt nots." 

Once installed at Sceaux, the Duchess surrounded her- 
self not only with kindred spirits, but with every delight 
and luxury that money could devise or buy. She made a 
museum and filled it with sculptures and valuable porce- 
lain ; she had a menagerie with strange birds and beasts. 
Her card-room was a marvel of artistic colouring and 
comfort, and a boudoir in the upper storeys, to which 
she ascended in a kind of primitive lift, and which was 
called the Chartreuse^ was as daintily and extravagantly 
furnished as any great lady's rooms in the whole of 
France. Here she sat, a jewel of many shining facets, 
in a casket lined with softest satin of gayest hues. And 
here her satellites composed the games of wit and hazard, 



252 An Eighteenth'Ccntury Marquise 

the poems, plays and music, the airy nothings of senti- 
ment and sensation, which were inspired by the sight of 
miles of verdant country stretching before the windows — 
nature on the one hand, and, by every refinement of 
culture and civilisation obtainable — art on the other. 

Every imaginable form of diversion was indulged in 
by turns or all together. No guest was admitted who 
did not sympathise with and share in the worship of 
merriment. This inviolable rule was responsible for the 
exclusion of the host himself from his wife's gatherings. 
It was feared that the Due du Maine might cast a 
shadow of gravity where only levity was desirable. He 
was so much under his wife's thumb, however, that he 
hardly dared to let his shadow fall anywhere without 
her express permission. It was said that she led hirti a 
dog's life. Saint-Simon's account of their relations was 
probably exaggerated, but it contains too many side- 
lights on their respective characters not to be worth 
quoting : 

" With the mind, I will not say of an angel, but 
of the devil, whom he resembled in doing service to 
none, but ill turns to all, in deep-laid schemes, in 
arrogant pride, in profoundest falsity, in artifices without 
number, in feigned characteristics beyond all estimate, 
yet pleasing, with the art of amusing, diverting, charming 
when he wished to charm ; he [the Due du Maine] was 
a gifted poltroon in heart and mind, and being so, a most 
dangerous poltroon. . . . He was, moreover, pushed 
on by a woman of the same stamp, whose mind — and 
she had a great deal — had long been spoiled and cor- 
rupted by the reading of novels and plays ; to a passion 
for which she abandoned herself so much that she spent 
whole years in learning dramas by heart and playing 



Sceaux and Anet 253 

them publicly herself. She had courage to excess ; she 
was enterprising, audacious, passionate, knowing nothing 
but the immediate passion, and making everything bend 
to that. 

" Indignant against the prudence and precautions 
of her husband, which she called miserable weakness, 
she constantly reproached him for the honour she had 
done him in marrying him ; she forced him to be supple 
and humble before her by treating him like a negro, 
and she ruined him from top to bottom without his 
daring to say a word, bearing everything in his great 
terror lest her head should give way altogether. Though 
he hid a great deal from her^ the ascendancy she had 
over him was incredible ; and it was by force of blows 
that she drove him wherever she would." 

The vagaries in which Mme du Maine delighted, and 
from which her husband shrank in undisguised distaste, 
were, in the first decade of the new century, nothing 
more dangerous than picnics a la Decameron, water- 
parties by candle-light, midnight revels called grandes 
nuits, and a fantastic mimicry of chivalric orders entitled 
" L'Ordre de la Mouche a Miel." Among those who 
participated in these extravagances were, first and fore- 
most, Malezieu and Genest, who were poets en titre to 
the ducal court. The former was the more active of the 
two. He composed numberless verses and impromptus. 
In earlier years he had been tutor to the Due du Maine, 
and had taught the Due de Bourgogne mathematics. 

" When M. le Due du Maine married," wrote 
Fontenelle, *' M. de Malezieu found a fresh career 
awaiting him. A young princess, eager to learn, and 
capable of learning anything, found in her household 
one who could teach her everything, and she was not 



254 An Eighteenth'Ccntury Marquise 

slow to attach him to her, particularly by those infallible 
means which princes always find at their disposal — namely, 
the esteem which she made him feel for her. In order 
to make her familiar with the best authors of antiquity, 
whom many people prefer to admire than to read, he 
translated for her on the spot, in the presence of the 
whole court, Virgil, Terence, Sophocles, Euripides ; and 
later, translations were no longer necessary except for 
portions of these authors. We spoke also of the highest 
sciences, into the regions of which she wished the same 
guide to conduct her. But we do not care to reveal 
the secrets of so great a princess. It is true that one 
could easily divine the names of these sciences, but it was 
impossible to guess how far she penetrated them, . . . 
M. de Malezieu also had a very different duty to perform 
for her, and in this he succeeded no less. The princess 
loved to give fetes, diversions, entertainments, and 
theatricals, but she desired that ideas should enter into 
them, and invention, and that the pleasures should not 
be without wit. M. de Malezieu used his less serious 
talents In planning and organising fetes, and he was him- 
self an actor. Verses were a necessary part of ingenuous 
amusements. He furnished them, and they always 
possessed fire, good taste, and appropriateness, although 
he was not given much time. He was equally clever 
at Impromptus, and he contributed largely in establishing 
that language at Sceaux, In which genius combined with 
gaiety to produce sudden little outbursts of enthusiasm." 
Genest's talents were of a somewhat different order 
from those of Malezieu, and his most striking feature was 
a prominent nose, which gave rise to an anagram on his 
name, anagrams and acrostics, puzzles and forfeits, being, 
intellectual food greatly appreciated by the habitu6s of 



Sccaux and Anet 255 

Sceaux. Charles Genest was metamorphosed into " Eh ! 
c'est large nes." Genest was not only a poet, but a man 
of letters, of the sword, and of the long robe, and his 
humour was so jovial, his nature so unspoiled and happy, 
that he was installed in the Sceaux circle as a permanency, 
and contributed to the grandes nuits in the role both of 
composer and actor. Vaubrun, who was responsible for 
originating these entertainments, was described by Mme 
du Deffand. 

" The Abbe de Vaubrun," she wrote, " measures three 
cubits on his right side and two and a half on his left, 
which renders his gait rather irregular. He carries his 
head high, and boldly displays a countenance which at 
first surprises, but which is not so displeasing as the 
oddness of his features would lead one to suppose. His 
eyes may be said to be the exact contrary of his mind. 
They have more depth than surface. . . . No one can 
display more gallantry when making the most unmeaning 
compliment." 

Of this, one of her most devoted courtiers, the 
Duchesse du Maine, remarked that he was the most 
sublime of all frivolous beings. 

Another of the Abbes was Chaulieu, whom Voltaire 
called " the first of the neglected poets." He fell in 
love with Mile de Launay, and wrote verses to her, 
beginning 

Thou, Launay, hast in high degree 

The spell all hearts to subjugate, 

Within thy very faults lies subtle witchery. 

Chaulieu was always well received at Sceaux, though 
he played a more important part at Saint-Maur, one of 
the seats of the Condes, where he made verses for the 
duke, as Malezieu did for his sister, the Duchesse du 



2^6 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise 

Maine, who paid periodical visits there, talking many of 
her friends in her train. The court was not a very- 
stationary one. First one of the guests would play host 
or hostess, then another. Once a year there were visits 
to Chatenay, the home of Malezieu ; Mme de Croissy 
gave dinners, and Mme de Polignac invited every one 
to Saint-Ouen for a collation. President de Mesmes, of 
whom Henault said, " I have never known a more 
agreeable man nor one of better style" (they used to 
drink their morning chocolate together), had a fine house 
at Cramaille, where he welcomed the duchess's friends. 
The Due de Nevers entertained at Passy or at Fresne, 
Mme de la Ferte at Chilly, Mme d'Artagnan at Plessis- 
Piquet ; and when every one was tired of country-life 
and wanted to be in town, the Duchesse du Maine allowed 
them to gather at the Arsenal in Paris. 

A great favourite at the court was "le plus beau 
parleur de son temps," the compromising Abbe de 
Polignac, whose name was coupled with those of many 
ladies, and with whom the Duchesse de Bourgogne flirted 
more openly than was discreet. He was a great courtier, 
and won Louis XIV's favour. When he was walking 
with the king in the gardens at Marly it began to rain, 
and the king remarked civilly that the Abbe's coat was 
not much protection. " That is nothing, sire," remarked 
Polignac ; " the rain of Marly wets no one." 

"He was a tall man, very well made," wrote Saint- 
Simon of Polignac, " with a handsome face, much clever- 
ness, and above all, grace and polished manners, all kinds 
of knowledge, a most agreeable way of expressing himself, 
a touching voice, a gentle eloquence, insinuating, manly, 
exact in terms, charming in style, a gift of speech that 
was wholly his own ; all about him was original and 



Sceaux and Anet 257 

persuasive. No one knew more of belles-lettres ; delight- 
ful in putting abstract things within common reach ; 
amusing in narratives, possessed of a smattering of all 
the arts, all the manufactures, all the professions. In 
whatever belonged to his own, that is, learning and 
the ecclesiastical calling, he was rather less versed. He 
wanted to please valet and maid, as well as master and 
mistress. He was always aiming to touch the heart, the 
mind, and the eyes." Polignac was the author of V Anti- 
Lucrece, and was exiled when the Due and Duchesse du 
Maine were imprisoned. He was quite as great a favourite 
in the second period at Sceaux as the first. 

The most famous poets of the court were Fontenelle 
and Lamotte. The former outlived his hostess, and 
died a centenarian in 1757. He was as much a favourite 
at Sceaux as in Mme de Tencin's salon. It was said of 
him in one of the contemporary portraits that he had 
the rare talent of fine and delicate raillery, and the merit, 
still more rare, of not making use of it, or if at times he 
desired to employ it, it was kept for the ears of his 
friends. He boasted that he loved three things greatly, 
about which he understood nothing. They were painting, 
music — and women. He made many pretty speeches 
to the latter, and when asked at Sceaux what was the 
difference between his hostess and a clock, answered 
aptly, " The clock keeps us aware of the passing of the 
hours, our hostess makes us forget them." 

Houdart de Lamotte, the dramatic author and 
frequenter of the cafes, was also a guest at Sceaux. At 
the age of forty Lamotte had become blind and crippled 
through gout. His letters were read with delight in the 
salons, but his poetry was found to have harsher notes, 
displeasing to some ears. " What would you have } " 



258 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise 

remarked the imperturbable author ; " a poet isn't a 
flute." 

Perhaps the Marquis de Sainte-Aulaire was the greatest 
acquisition at Sceaux. Mme du Maine called him her 
Berger and her Apollo, and he reciprocated by addressing 
her as Bergere. De Luynes said of him, " He had much 
wit, a character gentle and pleasing, a turn of gallantry 
very amiable. He made pretty verses with much facility. 
. . . He always seemed at the point of death, but never- 
theless enjoyed good health. He ate at all hours." 

The Marquis de Lassay and his wife were frequent 
guests at Sceaux. Mme de Lassay before her marriage 
was Julie de Bourbon, a natural sister of Mme du 
Maine's. Another visitor of rank was the Marquis de 
Clermont, who had been notorious in his youth on 
account of a love-affair with the Princesse de Conti and 
her lady-in-waiting. Mile de Choin, afterwards wife to 
Monseigneur, son of Louis XIV. These and others 
constituted the leading lights of Mme du Maine's gay 
court. 

For ever striving after something not to be enjoyed 
in ordinary everyday affairs, they indulged in many of 
the silly sentimentalities practised by the precieuses of 
the Hotel de Rambouillet, unfortunately without the 
pretensions of the latter salon to genuine culture and 
a reform of manners, which was solid enough under- 
neath the superficial absurdities. A new list of noms 
de guerre replaced the noms de Parnasse of a century 
earlier, which were catalogued by Somaize in his Diction- 
naire des Precieuses. Malezieu was known as le Cure ; 
his confrere, Genest, was called I'Abbe Pegase, a title 
which was sometimes transformed into I'Abbe Rhinoceros, 
owing to his prominent nose ; the Due du Maine was 



Sccaux and Anet 259 

nicknamed le Gargon (most frequently behind his back), 
and his sons became les deux Gargonnets. The Due de 
Nevers, a very constant guest in the earliest days of the 
court, was Amphion ; his wife, who was one of the most 
beautiful women at Sceaux, Diane, and their daughter, 
who was well known during Louis XV's reign as the 
Duchesse d'Estr^es, was dubbed Api ; Fontenelle was 
no longer Fontenelle, but Pigastro ; Voltaire became 
Museo ; Mile de Choiseul, Glycere ; M. d'Albemarle, 
le Major ; his wife, Genevieve ; Mme d'Artagnan, who 
lived just outside the chateau, was called la Voisine, 
which was more reasonable than many of the names ; 
Mme du Chatelet alone seems to have escaped without 
a precieuse label, perhaps because she came too late and 
they were all exhausted, or more likely still, because she 
was intolerant of absurdities which did not originate with 
herself. 

The Duchesse du Maine's emblem was the Bee, and 
her device " Piccola si, ma fa pur gravi le ferite " (she is 
small, but she stings sharply). The Order was founded 
some years after her court was established at Sceaux, and 
included thirty-nine members besides its dictatrice^ who 
went by the title of " La grande Ludovise." A peculiar 
ceremony accompanied the election of Knights and Dames 
to the Order, and the oath of the Society was, " I swear 
by the bees of Mount Hymettus fidelity and obedience 
to the perpetual directress of the Order, to wear all my 
life the emblem of the Bee, and to carry out, as long as 
I live, the statutes of the Order ; and if I am false to my 
vows, may honey change to gall for me, wax to tallow, 
flowers to nettles, and may wasps and hornets pierce me 
with their stings." 

A medal was struck, which was worn by the members 



26o An Eighteenth'-Century Marquise 

of the Society attached to a lemon-coloured ribbon. It 
was of gold, and weighed between three and four drams. 
On one side was the portrait of the foundress of the 
Order, with the inscription, " Ludovise, Baronne de 
Sceaux, Dictatrice Perpetuelle de I'Ordre de la Mouche-a- 
Miel " ; on the other a bee flying towards a hive, and the 
motto already quoted. 

The aims of the Society were probably nothing more 
serious than the desire for something novel, and the 
intention of chasing away boredom. In the light of later 
occurrences, when Mme du Maine gave rein to her 
political ambitions, some of the authorities attempted to 
attribute a political significance to the meetings of its 
members, but it is scarcely probable that any underlying 
note of the kind existed. On the other hand, it is not 
easy in these matter-of-fact days to enter rightly into the 
delicate spirit of romance and poesy, pseudo-philosophy, 
and a dash of mysticism which animated many, both 
men and women, at that time, without condemning it as 
puerile and artificial. Mme du Chatelet was too direct 
to harbour the spirit of sentiment which made such insti- 
tutions as the Order of the Bee possible. Some saw in it 
a protest against the more material aspects of love, an 
endeavour to refine and ennoble the relations between 
the sexes. M. de Goncourt, in U Amour au dix-huitieme 
Steele, has chosen this point of view, and has succeeded 
in representing the illusive spirit of the hour. 

*' There sprang up in one corner of high society a 
sect which advocated the banishment of desire from the 
region of love altogether. By a natural reaction from 
the excesses committed by sensual love, and the brutal 
passions of licentiousness, a few delicate souls, of a 
refined if not noble nature, were thrown back on platonic 



Sceaux and Anet 261 

love. A group of men and women, half hidden in the 
discreet shadows of their salons, were gradually drawn 
back towards a state in which the emotions of the heart 
are spoken of in whispers, the region in which the spirit 
sighs forth its love — almost to a state of true tender- 
heartedness. This little world meditated on the idea of, 
and drew up plans for forming an * Order of Perseverance ' 
which should have a temple with three altars — one to 
Honour, another to Friendship, and the third to 
Humanity. Thus at the beginning of the century, when 
its earliest excesses were at their height, we find that the 
court assembled round Sceaux had endeavoured to restore 
the goddess Astrsa, and had lodged its protest against 
the supper-parties at the Palais-Royal in the shape of a 
discourse on its ideas of love, and by the institution of 
the romantic Order of the Honey-Bee. * Le Sentiment ' 
is the name given to the new Order, and several men 
and women of note attached themselves to it. Here 
and there, at considerable intervals, are revealed figures 
of people of lofty sentiments, who claim to possess a 
peculiar delicacy in manners and principles, and in all 
matters of tone and taste, and who, by the aid of traditions 
of the refined and graceful manners of the great century, 
are striving to keep alive, as it were, the disappearing 
flower of chivalry in love." 

As regards the Order of the Honey-Bee this is very 
well ; Sceaux was coloured by the dominating personality 
of Mme du Maine. The same spirit will be found 
prevailing at the court of Luneville, but in a different 
degree, during the period when Mme du Chatelet was a 
frequent visitor there. 

Whenever a vacancy occurred in the Bee Society 
numbers of applicants competed for the honour of being 



262 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise 

elected in place of the departed member. Mme de Staal 
(to give her the name by which she is best known, 
although she was at that time Mile de Launay), described 
the jealousy and ill-feeling which took place on one such 
occasion, a few months after she entered the service of 
Mme du Maine. The three favourites in the running 
were the Comtesse de Brassac, the Comtesse d'Uzes, and 
President de Romanet. The latter was the fortunate 
one to be chosen, and the ladies who had been passed 
over in his favour lodged a complaint against the honesty 
of the judges. Under cover of the hue and cry that 
followed, Mme de Staal addressed an anonymous protest 
to the President, setting forth the ladies' woes. No one 
could guess whence the document originated. It caused 
much discussion, and was attributed first to Malezieu 
and then to Genest, but amongst all those mentioned as 
its possible author, none for a moment dreamt of the 
humble lady's maid. Seeing that they were thoroughly 
mystified, Mme de Staal followed up her first effusion 
by a second, as follows : 

N'accusez ni Genest, ni le grand Malezieu 

D'avoir part a I'ecrit qui vous met en cervelle. 

L'auteur que vous cherchez n'habite point les cieux. 

Quittez le telescope, allumez la chandelle, 

Et fixez a vos pieds vos regards curieux ; 

Alors, a la clarte d'une faible lumiere, 

Vous le decouvrirez gisant dans la poussiere.* 

Undoubtedly she deserved to rise from her menial 
position. Her romantic story is well known, but it is 

^ Accuse no more Genest, nor yet Malezieu the great, 
Of having writ the document which doth excite 
So much disquietude. The author keeps no state. 
But rather quit your telescope, your candle light 
And your inquiring glances 'neath you concentrate ; 
Perchance the feeble radiance will to you disclose 
The humble author lying in the dust: who knows? 



Sceaux and Anct 263 

so closely interwoven with that of Sceaux that it is 
impossible to tell the latter without repeating the former. 
Moreover, she knew Mme du Chatelet well, and had 
a good deal to say about her. Born in 1684, her real 
name was Cordier, although a more usual version is that 
she was born in 1693, and was called de Launay. Her 
father was a painter, who, having managed to get into hot 
water in his native country, fled to England, leaving his 
wife and daughters to conceal their identity as much as 
possible. Henceforward they were known by the name 
of de Launay. 

Mme de Staal's sister, thrown thus early on the world, 
took a post as companion to the Duchesse de la Ferte, 
one of the habituees at Sceaux. This lady, Marie- 
Isabel le-Gabrielle-Angelique de la Mothe-Houdancourt, 
was a daughter of the marshal of that name, and younger 
sister of the Duchesses d'Aumont and de Ventadour. 
She married the Due de la Ferte in 1675, and played 
the important part in Mme de Staal's life of introducing 
her to the Duchesse du Maine. Mme de Staal was 
made known to her by her sister, and was in her house- 
hold for a time, though she never desired a permanent 
post with her, because she had seen her sister degraded 
from companion into an ordinary waiting-woman ; and 
from the first Mme de Staal had ambitions. The 
Duchesse de la Ferte was an eccentric. She composed 
a naughty little couplet against her husband, which 
became very popular in the streets of Paris. When she 
stayed at her country house she laid aside the mask of 
dignity, which was her usual bearing in town, and 
hobnobbed not only with her servants, but with the 
tradespeople, inviting the butcher, the baker, and the 
candlestick-maker to seat themselves at her lansquenet 



264 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise 

table and play cards with her. Mme de Staal, who 
once looked on at this promiscuous game, was no little 
astounded when the duchess turned to her and whispered 
in her ear : "I cheat them, you know, but it's in revenge, 
because they rob me." 

At Sceaux, under the patronage of Mme de la Ferte, 
Mme de Staal appealed to Malezieu, saying that she 
greatly desired a post which would enable her to live 
in the manner to which she had always been accustomed. 
Negotiations were set on foot, and presently a transfer 
was made from the Duchesse de la Ferte to the Duchesse 
du Maine, not without much upbraiding and accusations 
of ingratitude on the part of the former. If Mme de 
Staal imagined that her troubles were over, and that she 
had fallen into circumstances compatible with her tastes, 
she was doomed to great disappointment. She was 
regarded as nothing better than a common servant, was 
lodged in an entresol of the chateau so low and dark 
that she could not walk without stooping, had to grope 
her way about as best she might, and could hardly 
breathe for lack of air or warm herself for lack of a 
fireplace. The first task imposed upon her was to make 
chemises for the duchess. When her mistress desired 
to wear one of the new garments she found the sleeve 
turned, so that " that which should have been at the 
elbow was at the armhole." The unhandy waiting-maid 
gained her first advantage. Her mistress said, not un- 
kindly : " You don't know how to sew ; leave such tasks 
to others." 

Undoubtedly Mme de Staal counted on her intel- 
lectual gifts to carry her on to the desired goal. As a 
lady's maid she can only be regarded as a gruesome failure,. 
if her own account is to be trusted. She was short- 



Sceaux and Anet 265 

sighted — perhaps when It best suited her to be so. 
When she was asked to fill a glass with water for the 
duchess to drink, she spilt the water into the lap of her 
mistress ; when she was requested to bring the powder- 
box, she held it by the cover, with the result that 
the powder spilled over the dressing-table and carpet. 
*' When you lift anything, you should take it by the 
bottom," said the patient princess. 

" I remembered this lesson so well," wrote Mme de 
Staal, " that a few days later, when she asked for her 
purse, I took it by the bottom, and was greatly astonished 
to see a hundred louis roll out upon the floor. After 
this 1 knew not where to take hold of anything. I spilt 
as stupidly a package of gems, which I took hold of 
exactly in the middle. It may be imagined with what 
contempt my deft and trained companions regarded my 
clumsiness." 

For a long, long time she shared the menial duties 
of Mme du Maine's waiting-women, keeping her eye 
ever upon the faintest chance of a rise in status. It came 
at last — in the shape of the grandes nuits. 

The Duchesse du Maine's love of amusement was 
insatiable. All those about her were kept busy day and 
night, devising new seasoning which might render the 
gaiety more piquant. The days were not long enough 
to enjoy the comedies, the masquerades, the lotteries, 
and fantasies which followed one another in quick 
succession. Mme du Maine loved to sit up all night, 
and expected suitable entertainment to be arranged for 
her. Her usual occupation was to play cards ; but games 
of this sort palled, and the Abbe de Vaubrun, who had 
many original ideas, conceived one that was quite new — 
namely, that during one of the usual vigils some one 

16 



266 An Eighteenth^Ccntury Marquise 

should appear in the image of the Goddess Night, en- 
veloped in sombre draperies, and present a tribute of 
gratitude to the duchess for the preference she accorded 
to Night over her sister Day. The goddess was to 
be followed by an attendant, who was to chant lines 
explaining this sentiment. The Abbe appealed to Mme 
de Staal to help him, begging her to compose and recite 
the speech in question. The companion agreed to his 
request. Unfortunately, however, she did not perform 
her part perfectly, owing to her nervousness, and because 
she was not accustomed to speaking in public. In spite 
of this slight drawback the idea was very well received, 
and was followed by magnificent fetes on similar lines 
given at night by various guests in honour of Mme 
du Maine. 

" I composed bad verses for some of them," wrote 
Mme de Staal in her Memoirs, " and planned others, 
and was consulted concerning all of them. I acted at 
them and sang at them, but my nervousness spoilt it 
all ; and at last it was decided that it was better not 
to employ me except for advice and suggestion, at which 
I succeeded so happily that I was greatly relieved." 

The entertainments were so costly that Mme du Maine, 
who, where her own pleasure was concerned, was a true 
spendthrift, was at length induced to see the error of 
her ways, and brought them to a close. " Sceaux," wrote 
Saint-Simon in 17 14, "was more than ever the theatre of 
follies of Mme du Maine, of shame, of embarrassment, 
of ruin of her husband by the enormity of the expenses, 
and the spectacle of the Court and town plunged in 
mockery. . . . There were nuits blanches in lotteries, 
cards, fetes, illuminations, fireworks — in one word, feasts 
and fantasies of every kind and at every moment." 



Sceaux and Anet 267 

Mme de Staal was entirely responsible for the last of 
the midnight shows, and it was given in her name, 
though not at her expense. Good Taste was represented 
as having fled to Sceaux and as there presiding over 
the princess's occupations. First Good Taste led forth 
the Graces, who prepared her toilet, dancing and 
singing the while. The second interlude represented 
Play. Gaming-tables were brought and arranged for 
games of chance, the songs and dances in this section 
being performed by professional actors from the Opera. 
The last interlude represented Laughter, who prepared 
a stage on which a little comedy was acted. It referred 
to the discovery by Mme du Maine of the magic square, 
to which she had long devoted herself, and which she 
claimed to have solved. It was all in verse, and in 
default of finding a poet who cared to compose on such 
a subject, Mme de Staal was under the necessity of 
writing the whole of it herself. 

The lady's maid had advanced in usefulness by leaps and 
bounds. She had won the notice of many of the guests, 
especially Fontenelle and the Due de Brancas, and she had 
several little affairs of the heart with various gentlemen, 
readily realising that she had no chance of being accepted 
as an equal by those with whom she had daily intercourse, 
unless she married a man of quality and was raised to 
his rank. At last the dearest wish of her heart was 
realised. A husband was found for her in the person 
of M. de Staal, who was an officer in the Swiss Guard. 
Her standing was at once assured. " Mme la Duchesse 
du Maine," she wrote, while her fate still hung in the 
balance, " fearing lest I might break the bonds that 
attached me to her, considered how she might strengthen 
them. . . . The position she had accorded me since I 



268 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise 

had quitted the office and functions of waiting-woman 
had no precise limits. I scarcely even knew whether I 
stood within or without them. However little I might 
overstep them, either without perceiving it or by her 
orders, the glances and murmurs of her ladies, scrupulous 
as to the distance that should be maintained between them- 
selves and me, made me retire discountenanced. . . . 
She told me that there was a way to remedy this by 
marrying me to a man of quality who would place 
me on a level with all the ladies of her court." 

But that was not until after the disastrous break in 
the Duchesse du Maine's social campaign. 

Once married to the illegitimate son of a king, Conde's 
daughter had done her utmost to procure for her husband 
and children a rank equal to her own. Louis XIV was 
fond of Mme de Montespan's eldest son, who was always 
at Court, and, aided by Mme de Maintenon, daily gained 
fresh favours. Step by step he had managed to obtain 
all the privileges of a prince of the blood. But even 
these heights of grandeur did not satisfy the ambitious 
soul of his wife. She had vowed to become "one of 
the kingdom's greatest ladies." Towards the close of 
the king's life she intrigued to obtain for her husband 
a position of the highest importance. She believed that 
the stigma of illegitimate birth had been practically re- 
moved, and was sanguine enough to urge the Due du 
Maine to compete, if not for the succession, at least 
for the post of Regent to the infant heir. He did, 
indeed, manage to obtain from Louis XIV a testament 
investing him with the power of a guardian over the 
dauphin Louis. But no sooner was the king dead 
than this was set aside and the Due d'Orleans was 
appointed Regent to Louis XV. War was declared 



Sceaux and Anet 269 

between the legitimate princes and the royal bastards. 
Mme du Maine and the faithful Mme de Staal pored 
night and day over intricate legal documents, and 
neglected no means of strengthening the duke's claims 
and those of his party. For two years they worked 
unceasingly, but all to no avail. 

In 1 71 7 a decree was obtained by the Due d'Orleans 
depriving the du Maines of all rights to royal succession 
as well as to the rank of princes of the blood. The 
passionate duchess, when this news was confirmed, fell 
into a paroxysm of anger and dismay. She refused to 
accept the rulings of a cruel fate, and redoubled her 
efforts to obtain the end she had in view, joining in 
the famous intrigue with Alberoni through Cellamare. 
Unfortunately for her, she was indiscreet enough to 
infuse into public affairs the spirit of romance she loved 
in private life, and carried on her insignificant share in 
the great Cellamare plot with that very element of 
mystery which reveals all. She insisted on bizarre 
disguises, invisible ink, meetings in unheard-of places, 
and spies more noted for their zeal than their discretion. 
Polignac and Malezieu were both drawn into these 
dangerous games, which, while they might still be 
regarded as play, enchanted the duchess with their 
infinite novelty and excitement. 

Suddenly a very serious aspect indeed was thrown over 
the whole matter. It was too late to withdraw. The con- 
spirators were discovered. Confederates and assistants were 
arrested, and before the duke and duchess could make 
any attempt to justify themselves or to escape they were 
thrown into prison. When she found herself in this 
dilemma Mme du Maine fell into such a transport of 
rage that she almost choked to death, and it was a long 



270 An Eighteenth^Ccntury Marquise 

time before she recovered. She was imprisoned at Dijon 
and removed to Chalons. The Due du Maine was 
confined at Doullens. Mme de Staal, of whom Elisabeth- 
Charlotte de Baviere said, " Mile de Launay is an 
intriguer and one of the persons by whom the whole 
affair was conducted," was sent to the Bastille. She was 
not at all unhappy there. 

Indeed, captivity was not made hard for any of the 
plotters, and in 1720 the Due d'Orleans relented, and 
the Duchesse du Maine was permitted to return to 
Sceaux after an absence of some two years. She had 
not learnt wisdom, and was as impulsive as ever. When 
she obtained leave to go to Paris she called on her 
enemy, the Regent, and, according to Elisabeth- 
Charlotte's account, she suddenly jumped up from the 
sofa and clung about her son's neck, " kissing him 
on both cheeks in spite of himself." Of course the 
Due du Maine blamed his wife for all his misfortunes, 
and she no doubt heaped recriminations on his unworthy 
head, so that he vowed never to speak to her again. To 
this vow he did not adhere, and Madame concluded her 
letter triumphantly : " The Due du Maine is entirely 
reconciled to his dear moiety. I am not surprised, for 
I have long been suspecting it." 

Thus opened the second period at Sceaux. At first 
very few people were received there, for fear the Regent 
should object. Mme du Maine played biribi, which 
d'Argenson called an ill-famed game, and when she was 
tired of cards, made Mme de Staal read to her for hours 
at a stretch. Gradually things became more lively. 
President Renault described the court at this time : 

" It was now very different from what it was in the 
reign of the late king," he wrote. *' M. le Due du 



Sceaux and Anet 271 

Maine had then a great deal of credit, and the duchess 
only used it for amusing herself. The entire Court was 
at her feet. She acted comedies with as much intelligence 
as grace. Baron, la Beauval, Roseli composed her troop. 
One has heard speak of the grandes nuits, of music, of 
balls, etc. Times had changed very much, I had not 
the honour to be presented there until after their return 
from prison. But if the court was less brilliant, it was 
not less pleasant. It was composed of great people and 
witty people. Mme de Charost, since become Duchesse 
de Luynes, Mme la Marquise de Lambert, M. le Cardinal 
de Polignac, M. le premier President de Mesmes, Mme 
de Staal, M. de Staal, M. de Sainte-Aulaire, Mme Dreuillet, 
Mme la Marquise du Deffand, It was she who replied 
so pleasantly to the Cardinal de Polignac. He was speaking 
to the Duchesse du Maine about the martyr of Saint- 
Denis. ' Just think of it, madame, this saint carried his 
chief in his arms for two leagues.' ' Two leagues . . . ? 
Oh, monsieur,' replied Mme du DeiFand, *ce n'est que 
le premier pas qui coute.' There are hundreds of repartees 
of hers that are always being told. She has no other home 
than that of Sceaux, where she spends nearly the whole 
year." 

It was at Sceaux that the liaison between Renault and 
Mme du Deffand began which became the friendship of a 
lifetime. " I passed nearly twenty years there," continued 
the President, " and, according to my destiny, found many 
ups and downs, contradictions and constraints. . . . Mme 
du Maine was the oracle of this little court. It would be 
impossible to have more wit, more eloquence, more badin- 
age, more real politeness, but at the same time no one 
could be more unjust, take more advantage, or be more 
tyrannical." 



272 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise 

A characteristic story was told of Mme du Maine and 
Mme d'Estaing, who did not arrive at Sceaux at the 
time she was expected. The former was in despair; 
" she cried ; she was beside herself. ' Goodness gracious/ 
said Mme de Charost to her, ' I did not think that your 
Highness cared so much for Mme d'Estaing.' * I .? Not 
at all ; but I should be very happy indeed if I took no 
notice of things I don't care for,' she replied. Everybody 
began to laugh." 

The Marquise de Charost afterwards became the 
Duchesse de Luynes. She had been left a widow early 
in life. She was not beautiful, but had a charming figure. 
She had many friends, and, said President Henault, " no 
lovers, because her soul was not impassioned." She had, 
nevertheless, many good qualities, for she was noble, 
generous, faithful, and discreet. 

Mme du Deifand, who was Mme de Luynes' niece, 
was a great favourite at Sceaux, more especially before 
she opened a salon of her own. She had sobered a 
little after her early indiscretions, but she retained her 
quick wit and sparkling conversation. " She conquered 
me with charms there was no resisting," wrote Mme 
de Staal. " No one had more wit, and no one was 
more natural. The dazzling fire of her intelligence 
penetrated to the heart of everything, and brought out 
into relief its smallest features. She possessed in a 
marked degree the talent of painting character, and her 
portraits, more lively than their originals, made them 
better known than the most intimate acquaintance with 
them." 

Did Mme de Staal, one would like to ask, approve of 
Mme du DefFand's picture of Emilie .? Mme dv DefFand 
wrote a portrait of Mme de Staal, of which the latter did 





MADAME DE STAAL 

"V\"lio wrote famous letters to Mme du Deffand about Mme du Chatelet and Voltaire 



273 



Sceaux and Anct 275 

not at all approve, so she tore it up and substituted the 
following description of herself : 

'* Mme de Staal is of the middling size, tolerably well 
made, very thin, very withered, and very disagreeable. 
Her character and her mind greatly resemble her figure : 
there is nothing absolutely awry in either, nor anything to 
admire. . . . She had the very good fortune to receive a 
most excellent education, from whence she has derived 
the little worth she has to boast, such as very rigid 
principles of virtue, very elevated sentiments, and a great 
regularity of conduct, which habit has rendered almost 
second nature. Her greatest ambition was to be thought 
reasonable. . . . Love of liberty is her ruling passion, 
which is peculiarly unfortunate, as her whole life has been 
spent in the service of others. She has therefore found it 
difficult to conform to destiny, in spite of the flowers 
which have occasionally strewed her path." 

Among the women who most graced the Court of 
Sceaux at this period was the Marquise de Lambert, of 
salon fame ; and another who frequented both Mme de 
Lambert's receptions and those at Sceaux was Mme la 
Presidente Dreuillet, concerning whom the story was 
told that one day, when she was dining with the Duchesse 
du Maine, her hostess pressed her to sing whilst soup 
was being served. Contrary to her usual habit, she 
excused herself on the plea of ill-health. President 
Henault, who was present (some versions of the story 
give the honour to Fontenelle), interceded on her behalf. 
But the duchess was angry at this interference with a 
plan which promised to give her amusement, and she 
answered crossly, "You are right, perhaps, president, 
but do you not see that there is no time to lose ? 
This woman might die before the roast is served." 



276 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise 

The pr^sidente, who was pretty, prepossessing, and 
very rich, was such an acquisition that Mme du Maine 
had insisted that she should have a room both at her 
hotel in Paris and at Sceaux ; and she did, in fact, die 
there at a good old age in 1730. Several of the earlier 
guests had passed away in the twenties. Chaulieu, 
Genest, Malezieu, and President de Mesmes were no 
more; Lamotte died in 1731, the Due du Maine in 
1736, Sainte-Aulaire in 1742 ; the Duchesse d'Estrees 
breathed her last at Anet in 1747. For the past twenty 
years the gay and gallant Api had trodden in the flower- 
strewn footsteps of the versifier Malezieu. She had or- 
ganised several of the grandes nuits. Related to Mazarin, 
she was a Mancini-Mazarini, and in 1707 had married 
Louis-Armand, Due d'Estrees. 

Her ending had in it an element of tragedy. Two or 
three weeks before she died she had a terrible fall down- 
stairs, of which at the time she took little notice. That 
was at the beginning of September, when Mme du Maine 
and her guests were at Anet, the famous old property of 
the day of Diane de Poitiers, which had come into the 
possession of the Duchesse du Maine, through her mother, 
at the same time as Sorel and Dreux. By the end of the 
month Mme d'Estrees was dead. She had been seized 
by an attack, probably of apoplexy, on the night of the 
27th and 28th. Mme du Maine was advised of her 
guest's condition, and hurried from the card-table to her 
room. Mme de Fervaquez and Mme de St. Maur, of 
whom Mme de Staal said, " She is the only reasonable 
and decent person we have here," were with the invalid 
at the last. The loss of Api did little to interrupt the 
amusements of the Court. Mme de Staal was shocked 
at the apparent want of feeling which characterised the 



Sccaux and Anet 277 

proceedings at Anet. The guests went hunting as usual, 
and enjoyed all the ordinary recreations and dissipations, 
except comedies, which were postponed for a time. 

Mme de Staal's correspondence gave the details of this 
sad affair to Mme du Deffand, and the same series of 
letters contained the famous account of Voltaire and 
Mme du Chatelet's visit to Anet in the August of 1747. 
The letters speak for themselves, and require no elucida- 
tion. The first was written in July. Emilie had given 
certain warnings of her approaching arrival. 

*' The secret of the du Chatelet has got wind," wrote 
Mme de Staal to Mme du Deffand, " but we are not to 
seem as though we had discovered it. She wished to have 
Le Petit Boursault (she meant Boursouffle) acted here 
impromptu on the day of St. Louis, and that everything 
might be in readiness, she had settled with Vanture to have 
the different parts written out, and to s^nd them under 
cover to him. The said Vanture, not being overburdened 
with money, and naturally very prudent, reflected that 
were such a packet to be sent him by post, it would be 
his ruin ; he therefore, through the medium of Gaya,^ 
requested that some papers, of which he was in expecta- 
tion, might come enclosed to Her Serene Highness. 
The petition was granted, without any questions being 
asked respecting the said papers. When the packet 
arrived, he and his petition having long since been for- 
gotten, the two envelopes were opened and everything 
was disclosed. Still they did not throw a light on the 
mystery ; and I was obliged to explain, which I did, as 
it would have been absurd to have refused, particularly 
as we are to appear as full of surprise as if we had 
remained in ignorance. The second envelope was then 
' Chevalier Gaya was a member of Mme du Maine's household. 



278 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise 

sealed up, and the packet delivered to Vanture, who is 
congratulating himself on having combined honesty and 
utility." 

At the beginning of the month Mme du Maine and 
her court were at Sorel, a brick building flanked by two 
pavilions which lay about a league from Anet, in a high 
position, overlooking the surrounding country and the 
river Eure. From Sorel Mme de Staal wrote again on 
August 5, referring to Mme du Chatelet's desire to 
perform Voltaire's play at Anet. " La du Chatelet had, 
as I informed you, communicated her project to me. I 
think she will succeed in having her opera acted once, 
but we shall not choose to have it repeated." 

Voltaire and Emilie were expected on the 15th, but in 
their usual whirlwind fashion arrived before they were 
due. Mme de Staal described the stir their coming 
made. " Mme du Chatelet and Voltaire, whose arrival 
was announced for to-day, and whose whereabouts nobody 
knew, arrived yesterday, at midnight, like two ghosts, 
with a smell of embalmed corpses, which they appeared 
to have brought from their tombs. We had just left the 
supper-table. Moreover, they were famished ghosts ; 
they required supper, and, what is more, beds, which 
were not prepared for them. The concierge, who had 
already retired, got up very hastily. Gaya, who had 
offered his apartment when there was pressing need of it, 
was obliged to give it up in this instance, and he moved 
out with as much precipitation and displeasure as an 
army surprised in camp, forced to leave part of the 
baggage in the hands of the enemy. Voltaire found 
himself both well and quickly provided for. As for the 
lady, her bed was not properly made, it appears, and it 
has been necessary to change her quarters to-day. Note 



Sccaux and Anct 279 

that she made the bed herself, as there were no servants, 
and she discovered a mathematical error in the mattress, 
which, I fancy, wounded her exact mind more than it 
did her not very delicate body. In the meantime, she 
has a room which has been promised. She will leave it 
on Friday or Saturday for that of the Marechal de 
Maillebois, who takes his departure one of these days." 

Mme de Staal found ample material for descriptive 
writing in the doings of "the ghosts." They at once 
set to work to rehearse the play. "Vanture," she added, 
** is to perform the Comte de Boursouffle. I cannot think 
he will look the character, any more than Mme du 
Chatelet will that of Mile de la Cochonniere, who ought 
to be short and stout." 

*' Our ghosts do not show themselves during the day," 
she continued on the i6th. "They appeared yesterday 
at ten o'clock in the evening. I doubt whether we shall 
see them much sooner to-day, as the one is very busy 
writing the lives of great heroes, and the other in making 
comments on Newton. They do not care to play cards 
or go out. They are of no value in a society of people 
who feel very little interest in their learned works. And 
what is still worse, they took it upon themselves last night 
to declaim loudly against the liberty with which cards are 
chosen at Cavagnole. They spoke, indeed, in tones to 
which we are not accustomed, and they were therefore 
listened to with a quite surprising politeness. I display 
much less, boring you as I am doing with ghost stories. 
But I have mercy on you when it comes to meta- 
physics." 

Mme du Chatelet was still dissatisfied with the accom- 
modation afforded her at Anet. On the 19th of the 
month she was moved into another room, the third since 



28o An Eighteenth^Century Marquise 

her arrival. " She could not endure the one she had 
chosen," wrote Mme de Staal on the 20th ; " it was noisy, 
there was smoke there although no fire (no bad emblem 
of herself, it seems to me). It is not at night that the 
noise inconveniences her, she told me, but in the day, 
when she is at work. It deranges her ideas. She is 
reviewing her Principles. She repeats this task every 
year ; without this precaution they might escape her, and 
perhaps vanish to such an extent that she would never 
recover them. I think her head is more like their prison 
than the place of their birth ; it is necessary to guard 
them with care. She prefers this occupation to every 
form of amusement, and persists in not showing herself 
until nightfall. Voltaire has composed some gallant 
verses, which do something to repair the bad effect of 
their peculiar behaviour." 

The visit of the inspired couple was not a long one ; 
and Mme de Staal felt relieved at the prospect of the 
household at Anet resuming before long its accustomed 
calm. " You will know that cur two ghosts, drawn away 
by M. de Richelieu, will disappear to-morrow," she 
wrote on the 24th. " He cannot set out for Genoa 
without first holding a consultation with them, and they 
cannot make up their minds to disoblige him. The 
comedy, which was arranged for to-morrow, is to be 
played to-day, to hasten their departure. I will send 
you an account of the show, and of the last circumstances 
of the visit ; but I pray you do not leave my letters on 
your mantelpiece." 

Mme de Staal might well have spared herself this 
expression of precaution, for she knew well that if she 
wrote anything amusing, all Mme du DefFand's friends 
would speedily hear of it. On the 27th she added, 



Sccaux and Anct 281 

*' I wrote you on Thursday that the du Chatelets were 
to leave us the next day, and that the play was to be 
acted in the evening. That is just what happened. 
I cannot give you a very satisfactory account of Bour- 
souffle. Mile de la Cochonniere so thoroughly under- 
stood the extravagances of her part that I was really 
much diverted by her acting. But Vanture only put 
his own absurdity into the part of Boursouffle, which 
demanded something more. He acted quite naturally in 
a piece which ought to have been a broad farce. Paris ^ 
appeared an honest man in the character of Maraudin, 
whose name expresses that he was a rogue. Motel was 
very good in the part of the Baron de la Cochonniere, 
d'Estissac was a knight, and Duplessis ^ a valet. Upon 
the whole it was not badly acted, and one can say that 
it went off very well. The author added a prologue, 
which he declaimed himself, and did it very well, being 
assisted by our du Four, who, without this brilliant part, 
would have hardly done credit to Madame Barbe. She 
was not dressed with the simplicity necessary for this 
character, nor did the principal actress show more wisdom 
in this respect. Preferring to suit her own style rather 
than that of her part, she appeared at the theatre with 
all the show and elegance suitable for a court lady. She 
had several quarrels with Voltaire on this point, but she 
is the sovereign and he is her slave. I am very sorry 
they have left, although I was tired to death of their 
caprices. Still her folly was amusing. But the pleasure 
of making other people laugh besides those who you say 
were diverted by my letters, would make me put up with 
some more of her idiosyncrasies ; but the curtain has 

• Secretary of the Duchesse d' Estrees. 

' Officer of the household of the Due du Maine. 



282 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise 

dropped, and the drama is ended. They have left some 
absurdities behind them, which I may collect for you 
at the first leisure moment, but I cannot say more 
to-day," Mme du Deffand was invited to Anet as soon 
as Voltaire and Emilie left ; and she was offered the 
room vacated by the latter ; but she was unable to avail 
herself of the invitation. 

" An excellent apartment is reserved for you," wrote 
Mme de Staal — "the one that Mme du Chatelet fixed 
upon after examining all the others in the house. It will 
not be quite so full of furniture as she left it, as she 
brought something away with her from every room she 
had occupied to garnish the latter. Six or seven addi- 
tional tables had accumulated there as she required them, 
of all sorts and sizes — immense ones for her papers, a solid 
one to support her writing-desk, some of lighter make 
for her knick-knacks and jewels. Yet all these excellent 
arrangements did not preserve her from a misfortune 
similar to that which happened to Philippe II, who, after 
having spent the whole night writing, found a bottle of 
ink had been spilt all over his despatches. The lady 
did not put herself about to imitate the forbearance the 
prince showed on this occasion. He had only written 
about affairs of state, whereas damage had been done 
to her algebraic calculations, which was a loss far more 
irreparable. 

*' But enough upon a subject which is pretty well 
exhausted, though I cannot consign their ghostships to 
oblivion without telling you that the day after their 
departure I received a letter of four pages and a note 
enclosed in the same packet which disclosed a great 
disaster. It appeared that Voltaire had mislaid the manu- 
script of his play, and had forgotten to collect the various 



Sceaux and Anet ^S^ 

parts of it, and had moreover lost the prologue. He 
enjoined me to discover the whereabouts of all these, 
to send the prologue as soon as possible, but not by 
post, because in that case it might be co-pied^ to keep the 
separate parts, for fear of the same thing happening to 
them, and to lock up the piece itself under a hundred 
locks. I should have thought a latch sufficient to guard 
this treasure. But I have literally and duly executed 
the orders received." 

Thus ended the visit of this " heroic-comic and tragic- 
gallant " couple at Anet, where they arrived with the 
Comte de Boursouffle and the Elements of Newton as the 
two most important items of their luggage. Wherever 
they went they created a sensation ; whatever they did 
was bizarre or unconventional. They quarrelled and 
were temporarily bitter enemies, or they were friendly 
and no pair could be more devoted. They considered 
nobody's comfort but their own, and annexed the furni- 
ture, arranged the meals, and did everything to suit 
themselves. At Sceaux, where they stayed later in the 
year, they were even more at home than at Anet. It 
was time for the Court to pay its annual visit to 
Fontainebleau, and it was Mme du Chatelet's usual 
custom to go there and pay her respects to royalty. 
Her travelling experiences of the previous year were 
not repeated. This time she was accompanied by 
Voltaire, and they lodged at Richelieu's hotel. Long- 
champ followed three days after their arrival. He was 
no longer maitre d' hotel to the fair Emilie, but had now 
accepted a post in the capacity of secretary to Voltaire. 
There were drawbacks to the situation, as he was speedily 
to find out. After snatching a few hours' rest after his 
journey, he went to Voltaire's rooms, and found the poet 

17 



284 An Eightcenth^Century Marquise 

still in bed, complaining angrily that there were no 
servants to be had, and that he was freezing with cold. 
Longchamp set to work to make a fire. Then the poet 
asked him to find his writing-case, and grew very im- 
patient because Longchamp could not at first discover 
what had become of this important article, which was 
lying concealed in semi-obscurity on a chair in an un- 
explored corner. Voltaire became more and more excited, 
and raising himself in bed, cried loudly, " Can't you see 
it, blockhead ? — it is there." When it was brought to 
him, he begged Longchamp to copy the beginning of his 
Essai sur les Mceurs et les Arts de Nations. In the 
meantime he dressed himself and went to breakfast with 
Mme du Chatelet. He had hurt the sensitive feelings 
of his secretary. 

Neither Voltaire nor Mme du Chatelet returned during 
the day, and Longchamp, divining that in the evening 
they would be playing cards at the queen's tables, stayed 
up until half-past one in the morning to wait for them. 
When they appeared at length, both wore an anxious and 
troubled look. Mme du Chatelet begged Longchamp 
to find one of the servants, who would inform her coach- 
man that she wished to have the horses put into the 
carriage, so that they could take their departure im- 
mediately. Longchamp was obliged to deliver the message 
himself, and when the carriage was ready, Mme du 
Chatelet and Voltaire, accompanied by a single femme de 
chamhre^ who had hastily collected one or two small 
packages, drove off, leaving the astonished secretary to 
wonder what on earth could have taken place to upset 
them in this manner. He did not discover the truth 
until after his return to Paris. All the trouble had arisen 
from Mme du Chatelet's love of gambling. She had lost 



Sceaux and Anet 285 

enormous sums at the card-tables. Before leaving for 
Fontainebleau she collected all the money she could 
conveniently lay her hands on, knowing that high play 
was in vogue at Court. Her treasurer had supplied her 
with 400 louis, and this she had lost at the first sitting. 
She sent an urgent messenger to town for fresh supplies, 
and in the meantime borrowed 200 louis from Voltaire. 
That amount soon followed the other. M. de la Croix 
sent her an additional 200, which he had obtained at a 
heavy interest, and 180, provided by her companion, 
Mile du Thil. But Mme du Chatelet seemed destined 
to have no better luck. In a very short time she had 
lost 84,000 francs. Voltaire, who had been watching 
the game, became convinced that these enormous losses 
were not only due to chance. He bent over her and 
whispered to her in English that she had not observed 
that she was playing with cheats. Although he thought 
his remark was inaudible, it was overheard and repeated. 
The courtiers were naturally enough extremely indignant 
at this impeachment of their honour, however well de- 
served it may have been. The rumour of what had 
taken place reached Marie Leczinska and Louis XV. 
Mme du Chatelet warned Voltaire that the consequences 
to him might be serious, and hence the midnight 
flitting from Fontainebleau. On the drive back they 
were delayed by a little accident to the carriage, and 
having no money to pay for repairs, they were obliged 
to wait until some friends, also driving that way, came 
to extricate them from their dilemma. Longchamp, who 
had been left behind to pack their trunks, followed in 
due course to Paris. 

Still afraid of consequences, Voltaire wrote in haste to 
the Duchesse du Maine informing her of his indiscretion, 



286 An Eightecnth-Ccntury Marquise 

and begging her to afford him an asylum at Sceaux. 
The episode was one which appealed very strongly to 
her love of adventure and mystery. She sent him a 
gracious message, arranged for him to arrive after dusk, 
to be met by her faithful official Duplessis, and smuggled 
into the castle by a secret staircase. He was given a 
room in a retired corner of the building which looked 
out into a secluded garden, and there he remained con- 
fined night and day, behind closed shutters, writing and 
working by candlelight. His only time of release came 
at night, when, after the guests were in bed, he slipped 
down to Mme du Maine's room, and supper was served 
to him there by one servant who had been taken into 
their confidence. During the hours of the night they 
chatted, or Voltaire read aloud some verses or romances 
he had been composing during the day. He had sent 
for his secretary, and kept him busy during this period 
of retirement from society, for during his captivity he 
wrote Babouc^ Scarmentadoy Micromegas, and Zadig. 

If he required anything from Paris, Long^-hamp was 
sent there secretly by night : in this manner the mystery 
of his seclusion, so dear to Mme du Maine's heart, was 
fully sustained. M. d'Argental was the only one of 
Voltaire's friends who was in the secret ; with d'Argental 
friendship was a profession. 

In the meantime Mme du Chatelet busied herself in 
raising the funds to pay off her debt. Then she came to 
Sceaux and ix^formed Voltaire that everything was safe and 
that he could come out of hiding ; the storm had blown 
over. To show his appreciation of Mme du Maine's 
kindness the couple agreed to stay on at Sceaux, and a 
number of plays and other entertainments were arranged 
for the benefit of the guests. 



Sceaux and Anct 287 

It was during this visit that Voltaire, who was occupy- 
ing Sainte-Aulaire's room — the gallant marquis had then 
been dead some five years — paid his hostess the graceful 
compliment of composing the following lines : 

J'ai la chambre de Sainte-Aulaire 
Sans en avoir les agrements ; 
Peut-etre k quatre-vingt dix ans 

J'aurai le coeur de sa bergere: 
II faut tout attendre du temps 

Et surtout du desir de plaire. 

No one was more delighted by the changed aspect of 
the situation than Longchamp, who had found his master's 
enforced seclusion irksome. " This caused us great re- 
joicing," he wrote of Voltaire's release, " but we were not 
yet allowed to return to Paris. Mme du Maine insisted 
that Mme du Chatelet and M. de Voltaire should remain 
at Sceaux and add by their presence to the number and 
brilliancy of the guests then assembled there. From that 
time no one did anything else except to arrange fetes 
at the castle for Mme la Duchesse du Maine. Every 
one desired to take part in them and to contribute to 
the general amusement of this illustrious patroness of the 
fine arts. One can easily guess that Mme du Chatelet 
and M. de Voltaire were not the last to distinguish them- 
selves among the crowd. The diversions were varied day 
by day. There were comedies, operas, balls, concerts. 
Among other comedies they played La Prude^ which 
Mme du Maine had already had represented on the 
stage at Anet. Mme du Chatelet, Mme du Staal, and 
M. de Voltaire had parts in it. Before the performance 
the latter came on the scene and declaimed a new pro- 
logue, specially appropriate for the occasion. Among 
the operas there were some acts from M. Rameau ; the 
pastorale D'Isse of M. de Lamotte, put to music by 



288 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise 

M. Destouches ; an act from ZSlindor, Roi des Sylphes^ 
words by M. de Moncrif, music by MM. Rebel and 
FranccEur. The nobles and ladies of the court of 
Mme du Maine took all the principal parts. Mme 
du Chatelet, who was as good a musician as actress, 
acquitted herself perfectly in the role of Isse, and that 
of Zirphe in Zelindor. She played still better, if that 
is possible, the part of Fanchon in Les Originaux^ comedy 
by M. de Voltaire, composed and played previously at 
Cirey. This part might have been expressly written for 
her, her vivacity, sprightliness, and gaiety being quite 
natural. Her talents were ably seconded in all the pieces 
by those of M. le Vicomte de Chabot, the Marquis d'As- 
feld, the Comte de Croix, the Marquis de Courtanvaux, 
etc. Other gentlemen played a very good part in the 
orchestra, with some musicians from Paris." 

Longchamp's account must not be taken too literally. 
Les Originaux was probably Le Comte de Boursouffle^ 
which appeared under a number of titles, and La Prude 
was said to have been played for the first time at Sceaux, 
and not at Anet, as he states ; but, apart from minor 
inaccuracies, his story agrees with that of others. La 
Prude was played on December 15. " Mme du Chatelet 
sang Zirphe with justice, and acted with nobility and 
grace," wrote Voltaire to Moncrif, and her appearance 
as Iss6 gave rise to his verse : 

Charmante Iss6, vous nous faites entendre, 
Dans ces beaux lieux, les sons les plus flatteurs. 

lis vont droit a nos cceurs : 
Leibnitz n'a point de monade plus tendre, 
Newton n'a point d'xx plus enchanteurs. 

Another form of amusement at Sceaux was Voltaire's 
reading of verse and prose in the salon when the whole 



Sceaux and Anet 289 

company was assembled before dinner, which was voted 
a great success. 

The end of the visit came in rather an odd manner — 
that is to say, odd for ordinary conventional people. 
Mme du Chatelet and Voltaire rarely stayed anywhere 
without creating a sensation of some sort, and this visit 
was no exception to the rule. 

De Luynes gives an account of the matter in his 
Journal for December 1747 : 

" For the last three weeks they have been playing 
different comedies at Sceaux. They have even performed 
the opera Isse twice. Mme la Duchesse du Maine has 
always liked to give fetes at her house. Mme de Mal- 
ause (Mauban) was charged with the expenses of the 
opera. Only Mme du Chatelet and Mme de Jaucourt 
took part. There were so many people at the first 
representation that Mme du Maine was persuaded to 
give another. In these two representations Mme du Cha- 
telet played and sang very well ; but the importunity of 
the crowd was no less great at the second representation 
than at the first, and Mme du Maine determined to have 
nothing represented except comedies. This latter decision 
did not last long. At the last comedy, five or six days 
ago, the crush was so great that the duchess was dis- 
gusted with such entertainments. She wished to see the 
cards of invitation which had been sent out. She found 
they were worded as follows : 

"'New actors will represent on Friday, December 15th, at 
the theatre of Sceaux, a new comedy of five acts in verse. 

" * All are invited, without any ceremony. Come at 
six o'clock promptly, and order your carriage for half- 
past seven or eight. After six o'clock the doors will be 
closed to all.' " 



290 An Eightcenth^Ccntury Marquise 

Voltaire and the divine Emilie had taken the law into 
their own hands and invited their own guests ! D'Argen- 
son put the matter in its most serious light. "The 
Marquise du Chatelet and Voltaire," he wrote in his 
Journal, "have been dismissed from the court at Sceaux 
on account of certain invitations which they issued to 
their plays. Voltaire gave five hundred notes of invita- 
tion to his friends, in which he said, as an agreeable 
inducement, that they would not see the Duchesse du 
Maine." 

The wording of the invitation, as quoted by de Luynes, 
in no way justifies d'Argenson's offensive imputation ; but 
Mme du Maine, feeling that the liberty which had been 
taken was too great to be overlooked, if she did not 
actually dismiss the misdemeanants, caused a hint to reach 
them that they had overstepped the limits of her hos- 
pitality. Mme du Chatelet and her poet returned to 
Paris, and their latest vagary was soon forgiven them. 



CHAPTER IX 

THE COURT OF LUN£VILLE 

" T T seems as though I remembered the pages of a 
A novel rather than some of the years of my life," 
remarked the Chevalier de Boufflers, when, as an old 
man, he spoke of Lun6ville. The Chevalier's name was 
Stanislas ; he was the godson of King Stanislas Leczinski, 
and his mother was the attractive Marquise de Boufflers, 
a member of the famous Lorraine family of Beauvau- 
Craon. 

The Chevalier danced, painted, played the violin, made 
little verses, told gay stories, and flirted with fair ladies, 
day in, day out, at the court of his godfather. All 
the others did the same, according to their inclinations 
and their abilities. Life at Luneville was like life at 
Sceaux, with a difference — a round of jollity and ease 
far more like romance than reality. The court was one 
of those pleasant places where there was but little business 
to be done, and where every one conspired to forget 
and make others forget the duties and responsibilities of 
the outer world. To them Luneville was the world ; 
they fashioned it after their own pattern, and a very 
brightly coloured patchwork was the result. 

Courts are not built in a day, and to this rule Lune- 
ville was no exception. Nancy, the capital of the 
province, had been the usual home of the rulers of 

Lorraine, those proud princes whose brave deeds called 

291 



292 An Eighteenth'Ccntury Marquise 

forth a responsive echo in the loyal and loving hearts 
of their people. But at the beginning of the eighteenth 
century, in the lifetime of Louis XIV and during the 
war of the Spanish succession, Lorraine became a camping- 
ground for the Imperialist and French troops. 

The reigning duke was at this time Leopold, who in 
1698 had married Mademoiselle, daughter of the King's 
brother, Philippe d'Orleans, and his second wife Elisabeth- 
Charlotte de Baviere. King Louis accused his nephew 
by marriage of allowing his Imperialist feelings to get 
the better of the political neutrality to which he had 
pledged himself, and he sent French troops into the 
capital of the province. The duke and duchess fled in 
the night to Lun6ville ; and when Louis XIV refused 
to withdraw his soldiers in response to Leopold's protest, 
the latter answered proudly that he would never return 
to Nancy whilst the soil was encumbered by French 
troops. 

At this date there was no castle at Luneville, and the 
duke and duchess took up their quarters in an old house 
in the village ; but finding that his exile was likely to 
prove a lengthy one (as a matter of fact it lasted till 
the Peace of Utrecht was signed in 1713), Leopold 
began building a more suitable residence on the site of 
an old chateau of the time of Henri II. The natural 
advantages of the country were excellent. On one side 
was the forest of Vitremont, on the other that of 
Mondon. The Meurthe and its tributary Vezouse 
watered the neighbourhood. Before long the Due and 
Duchesse de Lorraine were installed in their new court, 
and, gathering round them nobles, ambassadors, and 
ministers, they inaugurated fetes, masquerades, banquets 
and balls, with a view to increasing their popularity and 



The Court of Lunevillc 293 

establishing themselves more firmly than before in the 
affections of their people. Hospitality and entertaining 
came natural to the duke. He was young, handsome, 
and knightly. He loved nothing so much as the society 
of bright and cultured people, especially those belonging 
to the fair sex. At the same time he was a just and 
efficient ruler, intent on upholding the traditions of his 
house. 

His wife, Elisabeth-Charlotte, was a quiet and gentle 
lady, amiable but not beautiful, who sincerely loved her 
husband. On her wedding-day she scandalised the 
Lorrainers by shutting herself up in her bedroom and 
crying her heart out. It was said she did not wish to 
go to Lorraine, but that she was pleased to leave her 
somewhat tyrannical mother. The letters of the exuberant 
Liselotte contain many pertinent remarks about the 
young duchess, her husband, and their household. It 
was a great relief to her to get her daughter married, 
for she had begun to fear that Mademoiselle would 
have to remain a spinster for want of an eligible match. 
She thought the Due de Lorraine would probably marry 
his cousin, the daughter of the Emperor. 

Judging by outward appearances, the marriage was a 
happy one. The duchess had many children. Her 
eldest son married the Archduchess Marie-Th^rese, and 
became Emperor Fran9ois I. Liselotte's daughter was 
the grandmother of Marie Antoinette. The chief draw- 
back to Elisabeth-Charlotte's happiness was that she did 
not come first in her husband's heart. The beautiful 
and fascinating Princesse de Craon was the object of his 
passion, and for five-and-twenty years Leopold remained 
her devoted slave. The garden of the Hotel de Craon 
adjoined the park of the chateau, and a communicating 



294 An Eightcenth^Century Marquise 

gate between the estates made it possible for. the duke 
to spend much of his time in the company of the woman 
he loved without attracting undue notice to his visits. 
Mme de Craon's son, the Prince de Beauvau, threw 
scorn upon the idea that the relationship between these 
two was more than a kind of culte. He knew that the 
duke went to see his mother every day, and usually 
spent two hours at the Hotel de Craon. " In this 
house," he said, " he enjoyed the charms of friendship ; 
there he consoled himself for the difficulties he suffered 
in the course of a reign as firm as it was beneficent and 
wise. There he rejoiced in the good he had done, and 
often prepared that which he intended to do." 

The Beauvau-Craons were a very influential family, 
and were connected with the House of Bourbon, The 
princess, who was an exceptionally attractive woman, was 
tall and well-formed. She had milk-white skin, adorable 
lips and teeth, and a reputation for looking as fresh and 
pretty as a girl in her teens when she was fifty years 
old. Liselotte accused this siren of casting a spell upon 
her son-in-law, Duke Leopold, by means of a love-philter. 
In the absence of the princess, she declared, the duke 
was intensely miserable, utterly ill at ease, and presently 
fell a-shivering and broke into a cold perspiration. He 
must surely be bewitched, she thought, for in earlier 
times he had had a passion for the chase, but to-day 
Silvio had become a lover. " He wishes to hide his 
passion," she wrote in 1718, *'and the more he would 
like it to be overlooked, the more it is remarked upon. 
When one thinks he ought to be looking straight ahead, 
his head turns on his shoulders and his eyes remain 
fixed on Mme de Craon. It is quite amusing to warch. 
I cannot understand how my daughter can love her 



The Court of Luneville 295 

husband as she does, and that she is not jealous. No 
one could be more in love with any woman than he is 
with the Craon." 

That year the Due and Duchesse de Lorraine paid 
a visit to Paris, and Mme de Craon was in their train, 
so that Madame had an opportunity of studying the 
woman who was causing all this anxiety. She had to 
admit that the siren was a very charming person, and 
that her beauty had not been overrated. Her carriage 
was good, and she had a modest air that pleased. " She 
treats the duke de haul en bas^'' she continued, "as it 
she were the Duchesse de Lorraine and he were M. de 
Luneville. She laughs in a charming fashion, and 
behaves to my daughter with much politeness and regard. 
If her conduct in other respects were as exempt from 
blame as in this one, there would be nothing to say 
against her." As for the duchess, her daughter, Liselotte 
had to confess that she had grown appallingly ugly, 
that her fine skin had been burned by the sun, which 
had changed her and made her look old. She confessed, 
too, that she had un vilain nez camus^ that her eyes were 
sunken, and that her only good point was her figure, 
which was well preserved. She still danced gracefully. 
" I would rather she were virtuous and not lovely 
than that she were lovely and a coquette like so many 
others," sighed the upright Liselotte in a half-hearted 
attempt to console herself for her daughter's defections. 

A year later something like a tragedy occurred at 
Luneville. On January 3 the new chateau was destroyed 
by fire, and its inmates narrowly escaped with their lives, 
the ducal children being rescued in night attire, and the 
duchess, hardly clothed and without shoes and stockings, 
being forced to walk across the gardens in snow two 



296 An Eighteenth^Ccntury Marquise 

inches deep. Liselotte added several imaginative details 
to the story of the fire, which she attributed to in- 
cendiarism. She went so far as to accuse Mme de Craon 
of having instigated it. '* These mistresses are a detest- 
able institution ! " she declared. " They bring all kinds 
of disaster in their train, and conduct themselves like 
incarnate demons. The one my daughter has to deal 
with is a shameless woman, who does everything she 
can to draw her husband away from her entirely. I 
should not like to swear that it was not she who ordered 
fire to be set to the Castle of Luneville, for her hatred 
against my daughter is even stronger than her attachment 
to the duke." Two days later she praised the duchess 
for the wisdom or prudence with which she behaved, 
and declared that she never furnished a pretext for 
irritating her husband against her. " The fire was 
certainly started by design," she continued, "because 
they hindered help being brought or the alarm being 
given. Everything that goes on in Lorraine is calculated 
to occasion me much anxiety, for the Craon family directs 
everything." 

Meanwhile the duke lay ill, having caught a severe 
cold trying to save some of his possessions on the night 
of the fire. It was said that he had lavished so much 
wealth on his mistress and her children that his own family 
appeared in a fair way to be ruined. At his death, which 
occurred in 1729, it was found that he was greatly in debt, 
and that his revenues had been forestalled by some years. 
It was thought that the power of the Craon family was at 
an end ; but the duchess showed little inclination to avenge 
herself for past annoyances, and after depriving M. de 
Craon of the post of grand equerry, was content to allow 
her rival to remain at Luneville. The new generation 



The Court of Luncville 297 

was growing up. Mme de Craon had twenty children, 
of whom twelve were daughters. Four of them were 
to play an important part in society at Luneville, and 
one was to follow in her mother's footsteps and become 
the presiding genius at Court. 

Marie-Fran9oise-Catherine de Beauvau-Craon had 
inherited much of her mother's charm, her dazzling 
complexion and lovely hair. She had a natural gaiety 
and sweetness of manner which made her many friends. 
Born in December 171 1, one of all these brothers and 
sisters, she was sent at an early age to the somewhat 
worldly convent of Remiremont, where she remained 
until she was twenty-three. Her hand was then 
demanded in marriage by the son of the Marquis de 
Boufflers, who was three years younger than the proposed 
bride. The wedding took place in April 1735. The 
Boufflers belonged to an old family of Picardy, and the 
alliance was regarded as worthy of the Craon family. 
At first the newly-married couple lived quietly on their 
estate, and paid but few visits to Nancy or Luneville ; 
but Mme de Boufflers was not destined to bloom unseen 
for long. A new prince was to appear at the Court who 
was quite as susceptible to beauty as his predecessor, and 
who took more pains to gather round him all who could 
respond to his taste for wit, learning and the arts. 

King Stanislas, the new ruler of Lorraine, had been 
a pawn in the political chess game of Charles XII of 
Sweden. Born at Lemberg in 1677, he had paid 
diplomatic visits as a young man to the Courts of Vienna, 
Paris, and Rome. As Voivode of Posen, he was de- 
spatched in 1704 by the Assembly of Warsaw as 
ambassador to Charles XII. This king thought so 
highly of Stanislas that he recommended him to the 



298 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise 

Diet as a suitable candidate for the throne of Poland, 
left vacant after the deposition of Frederick Augustus, 
Elector of Saxony. His accession took place on July 1 2, 
1704, but his coronation and that of his queen, Catharina 
Opalinska, were not celebrated before October 1705. 
Four years later Frederick Augustus was restored after 
the battle of Poltava, and Stanislas was compelled to 
flee the country. For a period of five years he wandered 
about Europe, and then settled at Zweibriicken, under 
the patronage of Charles XII. 

In 17 1 8 the King of Sweden died, and Stanislas 
removed to Landau, and then to Weissenburg in Alsace. 
There he lived with his wife and daughter, Marie 
Leczinska, until 1725, when the latter, by a series of 
strange intrigues, married Louis XV and became Queen 
of France. Stanislas and the fair Opalinska removed to 
Chambord. When Frederick Augustus died, in 1733, 
the Poles requested Stanislas to return as their king. 
Three years later, having fled to Dantzic, and escaped 
thence in disguise to Prussian dominions, he was obliged 
to abdicate, but was allowed to retain his title. The 
duchies of Lorraine and Bar were granted to him, and 
for a rental of one million five hundred livres Stanislas 
gave to Louis XV all the rights of sovereignty over his 
domains. 

By this treaty, which was called the Declaration of 
Meudon, and was signed on September 30, 1736, it 
was stipulated that at the death of Stanislas, Lorraine 
and Bar were to belong to France. The change of 
government was not welcomed by the people, who re- 
gretted their approaching loss of independence. When 
Duke Leopold died, his son Francois had returned from 
Vienna and been proclaimed Francois III of Lorraine ; 



The Court of Luneville 299 

but his German manners and erudition, to say nothing 
of his German wig and coat, did not add to his popu- 
larity with those who had loved his gallant and debonair 
father. 

In 1736 he returned to Vienna to marry Marie- 
Therese, and his mother, who declared she was too 
old to learn German, and who would gladly have stayed 
at Luneville (had not this been the only possible residence 
for Stanislas) was installed at the neighbouring chateau 
of Commercy. 

Commercy had been built by Leopold Durand, and 
had formerly belonged to the Cardinal de Retz. On her 
way thither, the Duchesse de Lorraine stayed at the 
beautiful Chateau d'Haroue, newly built at that time 
on the site of the castle in which Marshal Bassompierre 
was born. The chateau belonged to the Prince and 
Princess Craon, and why the Duchesse de Lorraine 
accepted her rival's offer of hospitality is uncertain. 
Probably it was by far the most suitable halting-place 
on the route. Mme de Craon was not there to receive 
the duchess, who was accompanied by the Duchesse de 
Richelieu. The latter's presence was in itself enough 
to prevent a meeting between the Duchesse de Lorraine 
and the princess, for the Due de Richelieu had killed 
the de Craon's son-in-law, the Prince de Lixin, in the 
notorious duel referred to in Chapter II. 

After the death of the Duchesse de Lorraine, in 1744, 
Commercy fell to the lot of the fortunate Stanislas, 
who, delighted with the general aspect of the buildings, 
forests, rivers, and position, turned it into a palace. 
The chief external features of this residence were a fine 
avenue of trees, a horseshoe staircase, a terrace com- 
manding a view of the park, a kiosk, pavilion, fountains, 

18 



300 An Eightcenth<Century Marquise 

cascades, lakes, and a bridge which was lit up at night 
by lights enclosed in globes of crystal. 

Luneville was also brought to a state approaching 
perfection by its new master. Duke Leopold had partly 
restored the chateau after the destructive jfire of 17 19, 
but his death had prevented its completion, and it was 
left to Stanislas to put the finishing touches to this 
delightful residence. One of his ideas was to erect a 
grotto on which nearly three hundred moving figures, 
constructed by the mechanician Francois Richart of 
Nancy, were placed, which gave forth simultaneously 
** a concert of different instruments, human voices, cries 
of animals, the warbling of birds, the noise of thunder 
and of cannon, which both surprised and charmed." 
Nothing could be more descriptive of the curious kind 
of enjoyment in which these pleasure-loving people 
revelled. 

The luxurious king, who was only king in name, had 
still another string to his bow. Besides Lun6ville and 
Commercy, there was Malgrange, which he had recon- 
structed, near Nancy, and turned into an ideal resort 
during the heat of summer. Malgrange was close to 
the Church of Bon-Secours, where Stanislas never failed 
to communicate on days consecrated to the Virgin Mary. 
Sometimes he stayed at Jolivet, at Einville, or at 
Chanteheu, farm-mansions belonging to him in the 
neighbourhood. He embellished the little town of 
Nancy, erected a bronze statue of his royal son-in-law 
on a marble pedestal in the Place Royale, and adorned 
every part of his possessions, as far as money could 
achieve and skill devise, with gardens, parks, orangeries, 
cascades, lakes, menageries, fountains, conservatories, 
bridges, sculptures, frescoes, and all the ornate decorations 




STANISLAS LECZINSKI, KING OF POLAND 
Ilis Court of Luneville was famous in art, letters and gaj^ society 



301 



The Court of Lun^ville 303 

beloved of the period. He had a number of architects, 
painters, and sculptors always at work for him. Building 
was his great delight, and he did for Lorraine what 
Fran9ois I. did for France, only that, unlike the latter 
king, he employed local workmen, and was unselfish 
in allowing others to share in the enjoyment of his 
possessions. 

At the beginning of April 1737 Stanislas made his 
entry into the dominions which were soon to become 
beautiful under his transforming touch. Queen Opalinska 
followed him to Luneville within a few days. At first 
they stayed at the Hotel de Craon whilst the palace was 
under repair. The Craon family had no objection to 
continue the important part they had played under the 
rule of Duke Leopold. 

As soon as he was settled in his new domains Stanislas 
sent M. de Craon to announce this fact to Louis XV; and 
his ambassador, accompanied by Mme de Craon, then 
travelled to Florence, where they continued their allegiance 
to the old dynasty by allying themselves to Duke Fran9ois, 
whose tutor the prince had formerly been, leaving their 
children to carry on the traditions of the family in 
Lorraine. Many people of rank were in a similarly 
difficult position. Some followed their prince abroad, 
others attached themselves to the new regime. A few 
of them — the Comte de Choiseul-Stainville was one — 
tried to pay a compliment to both parties by putting one 
son in the French army, another in the Austrian. 

Stanislas did his best to propitiate the Lorraine nobles, 
and gave many of them posts in his large household, 
which numbered four hundred people. Although an 
autocrat as far as his personal affairs were concerned, 
Stanislas had no real power, for it was vested in 



304 An Eightcenth'Century Marquise 

Louis XV's myrmidon, the Chancellor de la Galaiziere. 
La Galaiziere was a distinguished and courteous gentle- 
man, who ruled the province wisely, and never let his 
nominal master feel his touch on the reins of government 
more than he could help. Whenever Stanislas heard 
rumours of discontent among the people, he silenced 
them speedily with a word. " I shall be so good to 
them that they will weep even more for me than for 
their former princes," he said. 

Deprived of the cares of government, yet enjoying its 
privileges, Stanislas threw himself heart and soul into the 
arranging of his court, from the social point of view as 
well as into philosophical studies and patronage of the 
arts. His personal suite included the Comte de Choiseul- 
Stainville, the Marquis du Chatelet, the Comtes d'Hunol- 
stein and de Brassac. The Comte de Bethune was his 
grand chamberlain ; the Com.te d'Haussonville, the 
master of the hunt ; the Marquis de Custine his grand 
equerry. Behind the four " grands chevaux " de Lorraine, 
already mentioned, pressed the crowd of the *' petits 
chevaux " de Lorraine, the minor nobility. A German 
element was added by the de Raigecourt and the Gournay. 
Some appointments were given by Stanislas to those old 
friends who had shared his dangers and adventures during 
exile. Among these were the Due Ossolinski, husband of 
his favourite; the Chevalier de Wiltz, lover of the Princesse 
de Talmont ; and the Chevalier de Solignac, his secretary, 
who was a pupil of Fontenelle and contributed not a 
little to the vivacity of the Court. He was called the 
King's teinturier ordinaire^ and he loved literature and 
the arts. 

Stanislas required great tact to weld these different 
national elements into one harmonious household and to 



The Court of Lun^villc 305 

silence the grievances of the Lorraine nobles. He suc- 
ceeded because he had a delightful manner, a generous 
heart, and a broad mind — unlike his queen, who was cold 
and kept every one at a distance. 

Catherina Opalinska had married Stanislas in 1695, 
when she was a girl of fifteen. She loathed and detested 
Lorraine, and grumbled at everything that happened at 
Luneville. On the whole she had little to complain of. 
The household was almost as important as that of the 
queen, her daughter, or the Dauphine of France. She 
had a chevalier d'honneur^ a lady of honour, dames du 
■palais^ maitres d'hotel^ almoners, and so forth in as large 
numbers as the royal ladies at Versailles. As at the 
French Court, her women were chosen from among those 
beauties who charmed the eye of the reigning lord, and 
in this case many of them were members of the noblest 
of the Lorraine families. Mme de Linanges was her 
lady of honour, and it was rumoured that the king 
looked at her with ill-concealed admiration ; the Com- 
tesses de Choiseul-Stainville and de Raigecourt, the 
Marquise de Boufflers and presently two of her sisters were 
among the dames du palais. The Beauvau-Craon family 
received many favours at the hands of Stanislas. Mme 
de Boufflers* husband was made Captain of the Guard 
in the place of Lambertye. In 1738 Mme de la Baume 
Montreval, her sister, was appointed dame du palais, and 
the widowed and dowager Princesse de Lixin was 
married under the auspices of Stanislas to the Marquis 
de Mirepoix and also received an appointment at Court. 
The Prince de Beauvau, their brother, was made Colonel 
of the Regiment of Guards. 

Mme de Craon, it was said, never returned to Luneville, 
because she was jealous of her own daughter, who had 



3o6 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise 

usurped her position at Court under the new regime. 
Certainly her daughter was upholding the family traditions. 
But the princess had never had a rival in the heart of 
Leopold, whereas the marquise had had for an im- 
mediate predecessor the fascinating Duchesse Ossolinska. 
This woman was the King of Poland's cousin, and had 
married his former treasurer in 1733. She was her 
husband's second wife, and he was thirty years older 
than she was. Her sister was the Comtesse Jablonowska, 
who fell in love with the Chevalier de Wiltz, and for this 
reason was refused as a match by the Due de Bourbon. 
The Prince de Chatelherault-Talmont showed more con- 
fidence in her, and married her, on the strict under- 
standing that she should forget his rival in her affections. 
She promised to do her best, but no sooner became the 
Princesse de Talmont than she broke her word. The 
husband and the lover fought a duel ; Stanislas inter- 
vened, and the Prince de Talmont left Lorraine, vowing 
never to see his faithless wife again. In 1738 Wiltz 
died, and a reconciliation was brought about between 
the prince and princess. Mme du DefFand described 
this strange woman with her usual felicity, and Walpole, 
who was " carried by force to see her," made the most 
of her peculiarities, and thanked the stars that she could 
not find a syllable to say to him, and begged nothing 
worse of him than a lap-dog. 

*' She fancies herself an absolutely perfect being," wrote 
Mme du DefFand of the Princesse de Talmont. " She 
makes no scruple of telling you that she does, and she 
requires you to believe her. Upon no other terms can 
you enjoy even the appearance of her friendship — I say 
the appearance, as she cannot bestow any real regard upon 
others, she is so very fond of her own dear self. Yet she 



The Court of Lun^ville 307 

would wish to be beloved, but merely out of vanity. Her 
heart is absolutely devoid of feeling. . . . Neither her 
manners nor her looks are easy or natural. She carries 
her chin too high and her elbows too far behind her. 
Her looks are always studied. She wishes by turns to 
appear tender, disdainful, proud, and absent ; her counten- 
\ ance never wears the expression of her feelings, but she 
affects to be more touching, more imposing, etc., than she 
really is." 

The duel fought on account of the Princesse de Talmont 
was not the only scandal at the court of Luneville. 
Several were unfortunately connected with the convent 
of Remiremont ; and when one of the chanoinesses shot 
herself under distressing circumstances, Stanislas deter- 
mined that appearances at least should be respected, even 
though he did little to improve morals. For this reason 
perhaps he was careful that there should never be 
mattresses declarees at the court of Lun6ville as at Ver- 
sailles, although in many other respects the court of 
Lorraine was modelled on that of France. Voltaire said 
that going from one to the other was hardly like a change 
of habitation. Perhaps at Luneville letters were held in 
higher honour, and etiquette was less severe, whilst in 
licence there was little to choose between them. 

Declared or not, there is little doubt that the charming 
Mme de Boufflers was none the less mistress because she did 
not bear the title. Nor was she only mistress to Stanislas. 
There were rumours of other liaisons quite as discredit- 
able. There was Panpan Devaux, concerning whom 
Mme de Graffigny ran risks because she played mother 
to so handsome an adopted son. There was the little 
saint, Saint-Lambert, who was a la mode with all the 
ladies, and who bristled angrily because Voltaire said the 



3o8 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise 

fair marquise was the king's mistress when he regarded 
her as his own. With both Devaux and Saint-Lambert 
she was friendly for years and years. There was besides 
the chancellor Chaumont de la Galaiziere, of whom it 
might have been said, as it was in fact said about Fouquet, 
"Jamais surintendant ne trouva des cruelles." Was there 
nothing in the famous story, told as well by Horace 
Walpole as by anybody else, and quotable only because it 
is his ? Colle had one version of it in his Journal. Cham- 
fort made it apply to Mme de Bassompierre, Mme de 
Boufflers' sister ; and M. de Sainte-Aulaire fathered it upon 
her niece, Mme de Cambis. Walpole wrote it to Sir 
Horace Mann many years later, in 1764, from Strawberry 
Hill: 

" I love to tell you an anecdote of any of our old 
acquaintance, and I have now a delightful one, relating, 
yet indirectly, to one of them. You know, to be sure, 
that Mme de Craon's daughter, Mme de Boufflers, has 
the greatest power with King Stanislas. Our old friend 
the princess goes seldom to Luneville for this reason, not 
enduring to see her daughter on that throne which she so 
long filled with absolute empire. But Mme de Boufflers, 
who, from his Majesty's age, cannot occupy all the places 
in the palace that her mother filled, indemnifies herself with 
his Majesty's Chancellor. One day that she discovered 
half-way up her leg, the lively old monarch said, 'Regardez, 
quel joli petit pied, et la belle jambe ! Mon Chancelier 
vous dira le reste ! ' You know this is the form when 
a king says a few words to his Parliament and then refers 
them to his chancellor." 

It was Walpole, too, who remarked, " 'Tis surely very 
wholesome to be a sovereign's mistress," because when 
Mme de Boufflers' mother was ninety she had travelled 



The Court of Luneville 309 

to Frankfort and Prague to be present at the coronation 
of the Archduke Joseph, grandson of her former lover. 

Mme de Boufflers retained her youth and her freshness 
until she grew old ; and if she was too gay, and earned 
for herself the title of " dame de Volupte " because of her 
gracious ways and pleasure-loving soul, at least she was 
honest about it, and that may be told in her favour when 
comparing her with many of her contemporaries. She 
chose a characteristic epitaph : 

Ci-git, dans une paix profonde, 
Cette dame de Volupte 
Qui, pour plus grande surety, 
Fit son paradls dans ce monde. 

She admitted that she was Wanting in religious faith, 
even as she was wanting in faithfulness, but she neither 
tried to excuse nor did she parade her faults. They 
were part of her — and she was part of the contemporary 
social system. That explained everything. When she 
tried to cure her deficiencies she failed. At the age of 
fifty she desired to be converted, but she found it not at 
all easy to believe. Disappointed, she explained to her son, 
the Chevalier, that she had done everything she possibly 
could, but had not grown devout. " Je ne con^ois pas 
meme comment on peut aimer Dieu, aimer un etre que Ton 
ne connait pas : non, je n'aimerai jamais Dieu," she said 
earnestly and regretfully. " Ne repondez de rien," re- 
plied the Chevalier to comfort her ; " si Dieu se faisait 
homme une seconde fois vous I'aimeriez surement." ^ 

He was fond and proud of his mother, this graceless 
Chevalier, who judged others as leniently as he desired to 
be judged himself. He wrote a deHghtful picture of a 

* CoUe's Journal, vol ii. 



3IO An Eightcenth^Century Marquise 

woman who, in spite of all her faults, had many good 
gifts. 

" Her face, even in the flower of her age, had never 
been, properly speaking, either beautiful or pretty, but 
she was to the prettiest what the prettiest are sometimes 
to the beautiful : she was more attractive. The sparkling 
whiteness of her complexion, the peculiar beauty of her 
hair, the perfection of her figure, the lightness of her 
carriage, the nobility of her bearing, and, above all, the 
expression, the vivacity, the singularity of her counten- 
ance, were sufficient to distinguish her from all the other 
women of her day." 

Nor was she wanting in intellectual gifts : " she spoke 
little, read much — not for instruction, nor to form her 
taste gradually, but she read as she played — to forgo the 
need of speaking. Her reading was limited to a few 
books, which she frequently read again. She did not 
retain all she read, but the result was, nevertheless, a 
source of knowledge which in the long run was the 
more precious, because it was coloured by her own ideas. 
That which transpired from it resembled in a manner a 
book, perhaps slightly incoherent, but above all amusing, 
and from which was wanting nothing but useless pages." 
This portrait is attributed to the Comte de Tressan. 
Putting the two descriptions together, we get a fascinating 
woman with a charming figure and baby face, burdened 
by no grave intellectual tendencies, but with sufficient 
culture to keep abreast of the literary and artistic pre- 
tensions of the Court ; intent on the enjoyment of life, 
pleasing others by the sheer force of being always pleased 
herself, and flitting lazily, like a bee for honey, from 
flower to flower. 

It is easy to understand that she and Mme du Chatelet 




THE MARQUISE DE BOUFFLERS 
Star of the Court of I,ur.6ville 



3" 



The Court of Lun^ville 313 

were good friends from force of contrast. Mme de 
Boufflers was too easy-going, her position too assured, her 
mind too uncritical, for great rivalry or discord to arise 
between them. That some unpleasantness did occur was 
inevitable under the circumstances, but in spite of it 
Mme de Boufflers remained the closest woman friend 
of Mme du Chatelet's last years. 

Meanwhile she was Queen of the Court of Stanislas, 
and as much the Idole de Luneville as her namesake was the 
Idole du Temple. Confusion arose among the biographers 
because there were so many ladies of the name of 
Boufflers. The Idole du 'Temple was a countess, friend 
to Walpole and mistress of the Prince de Conti. The 
Duchesse de Boufflers changed her name to Luxembourg, 
and was the heroine of a story told by Longchamp, in 
which she communicated to all the courtiers a discourse 
composed by Voltaire for Richelieu, which she had read 
in Mme du Chatelet's boudoir. When the unfortunate 
duke entered the presence of Louis XV, he heard every 
one near him murmuring fragments of the speech he 
had prepared. There was also Am61ie de Boufflers, who 
was granddaughter of the old duchess, and the dowager 
Marquise de Boufflers, mother-in-law to the heroine of 
Luneville. 

When the young marquise was taken on a first visit 
to Paris to stay with her husband's mother, she was 
terribly disappointed to find that lady still mourning the 
husband she had lost many years before. Her house in 
the Faubourg Saint-Germain was hung with black, the 
windows were all darkened, and the prospects of a de- 
lightful holiday being all shattered at a blow, the visitor 
burst into tears and refused to be comforted. After a 
time, however, she learnt to love her mother-in-law, who 



314 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise 

was kind and gentle. One day she spoke disparagingly 
of the marquis, her husband. "You forget he is my 
son," remarked the elder lady, drawing herself up rather 
haughtily. *' So I did, maman," replied his wife. " Just 
for the moment I fancied he was your son-in-law." The 
gloomy abode being unendurable to the pleasure-loving 
marquise, she soon went to stay with the Duchesse de 
Boufflers, who introduced her to the gay society life of 
Paris. She was presented at Versailles, entered Into 
many brilliant circles, and met several of the clever men 
whom she was to see later at Lun^ville. Among them 
were Voltaire and Montesquieu. She did not pay frequent 
visits to Paris, but when she was in the capital she 
sometimes stayed at the town house of her brother, the 
Prince de Beauvau, sometimes at that of her sister, the 
Duchesse de Mirepoix. On the whole she preferred 
Lorraine, and said of it, " It is there that I wish to live 
and to die ! " 

She was entirely happy at Lun^ville, and felt for 
old King Stanislas an affection which his affability and 
generosity compelled. She ruled at the court because 
she ruled its master by force of her gaiety, originality, 
and variety. She gathered her own little circle round 
her. Perhaps the chief figure in it was Mme de 
Mirepoix, her sister. Mme du Deffand said of this 
lady when she neared the age of sixty, that although 
her face and figure aged according to the usual process, 
her mind had grown younger, and was barely fifteen. 

" She never speaks of herself," she wrote, " never takes 
upon herself to decide upon anything, very seldom dis- 
putes with anybody — it is sufficient to see her to think 
her amiable and interesting, but one must have lived with 
her to be able to appreciate her worth. . . . She is very 



The Court of Lunevillc 315 

timid, but never seems embarrassed — never loses her 
presence of mind, nor what we style I'apropos. Her 
countenance is charming, her complexion dazzling ; her 
features, without being absolutely regular, are so well 
suited to each other, that no one has a greater air of 
youth or can be prettier. Her desire to please bears a 
much greater resemblance to politeness than to coquetry ; 
therefore the women are not jealous of her, and the men 
dare not fall in love with her. . . . The love which she 
feels for her husband satisfies her heart." 

Her great friend was Montesquieu, who wrote her 
portrait in verse ; and Walpole said of her that she even 
concealed the blood of Lorraine without ever forgetting 
it. She " is the agreeable woman of the world when she 
pleases," he wrote — " but there must not be a card in the 
room." Mme de Mirepoix was something of a gambler. 
Her brother, the Prince de Beauvau, also thought her 
one of the most amiable women of the century, wise and 
refined, and, above all, with a mind just as a woman's 
mind should be. The Prince and Princesse de Beauvau 
were themselves in Mme de Boufflers' train. These 
two were such a happy couple that a story is told to 
illustrate an exceptional state of conjugal felicity. Their 
daughter, who was married at the age of seventeen to 
the Prince de Poix, was forbidden to read sentimental 
romances, which might have given her wrong views on 
the subject of conventional marriages. " But," she cried 
to her advisers, " if you don't want me to know anything 
about such things you will have to forbid my seeing 
papa and mamma ! " 

This niece of Mme de Boufflers was too young to be 
much at Luneville during the lifetime of Stanislas, but 
two other nieces were there, the daughters of Mme de 



3i6 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise 

Chimai : Mme de Caraman, who Walpole said was a 
very good kind of woman, but had not a quarter of her 
sister's parts ; and Mme de Cambis, who had an elegant 
figure, grace and coquetry. *' This Cambis pleases me," 
wrote Mme du DefFand ; " truly her character is cold 
and dry, but she has tact, discernment, truth, and pride. 
I am animated by a certain wish to please her. She 
could never be a friend, but I find her piquante." Mme 
de Cambis liked the Comtesse de Boufflers more than she 
liked her aunt the Marquise. Her sisters, with their 
husbands, also helped to swell the numbers of Mme de 
Boufflers' court. Mme de Bassompierre, one of them, 
was so beautiful, and at the same time so disagreeable, 
that Tressan said of her : '* Fie 1 how lovely she is ! " 
One of Mme de Boufflers' most intimate friends was 
Mme Durival, wife of the Secretary of the Council. She 
painted, she played the violin, she broke hearts, she 
ignored the existence of her husband, all in the most 
approved fashion of the day. 

It was Mme de Boufflers who obtained for Panpan the 
post of Reader to the King. Stanislas was surprised at 
her request, and would not accede to it at once. " What 
shall I do with a reader } " he asked. " Ah, well, he will 
be as useful as my son-in-law's confessor," and Panpan 
was appointed at a salary of two thousand crowns. He 
was an amusing youth, this Panpan, and in his society 
the favourite never knew a moment's ennui. He was 
useful, too, to fetch and carry, to give her little presents, 
accompanied by pretty verses, to make plans for her 
enjoyment, and keep pleasant surprises up his sleeve. 
He wrote his own portrait in verse, describing his 
countenance as open, his hair as well placed, two little 
eyes without fire, but without malice, which closed up 



The Court of Lun^ville 317 

whenever he laughed, his laugh spreading to his vermilion 
lips and showing teeth "mal en bataille," and so on, 
taking his physical charms and dissecting them one by 
one. It was quite in the spirit of Panpan and of 
Luneville. 

Mme de Boufflers kept her two sons and her daughter 
with her at Luneville, which showed that she was a good 
mother, though perhaps not altogether a wise one. The 
eldest son was destined to go into the army, and was 
presently sent to Versailles to be brought up with the 
dauphin. The younger, the Chevalier, who passed under 
the nickname of " Pataud," was educated by a tutor, 
the Abbe de Porquet, who became an acquisition to the 
court. Mme de Boufflers, seeing how amiable, enter- 
taining, and witty he was, made a friend of him, and 
forgot to treat him as though he were merely a preceptor 
for her son. She had to find him a court appointment 
before she could enjoy much of his society. She 
bethought her of the position of almoner. No sooner 
said than done. Stanislas, amiable as he was when 
favours were to be bestowed, did not care to have new 
retainers who did nothing for a living, so he used to set 
them a task. The one he chose for the Abb6 was a very 
natural one to choose, but at the same time rather an 
awkward one as it turned out. He asked him to say the 
'Benedicite at the royal table. The Abbe stuttered and 
stammered, could not remember the prayer, and subsided 
into silence. Mme de Boufflers, pleading on his account, 
prevented his dismissal. 

But the Abbe could be so amusing that much was 
forgiven him. When one day he read the Bible to 
Stanislas he fell into a doze, and, waking with a start, 
read, " God appeared to Jacob en singed " What ! " 



31 8 An Eighteenth^Centttry Marquise 

cried Stanislas ; " you mean en songe^ " Ah, Sire," 
replied Porquet quickly, " is not everything possible to 
God ? " He was so free in thought for an Abbe that 
when he complained to Stanislas that he was not promoted 
quickly enough, the king replied, " But, my dear Abbe, 
you yourself are to blame for that. You are far too free 
in your speech. They say you don't believe in God. 
You must moderate your manner. Just try and believe. 
I will give you a year to do it in." 

No wonder that his pupil, the gay Chevalier, was a 
flippant youth. Saint-Lambert called him Voisenon le 
Grand, because he had Voisenon's frivolity and was far 
more lovable. The Prince de Ligne said of him in after- 
years, that he was abbe, soldier, writer, administrator, 
deputy, and philosopher by turns, and that the only one 
of these roles which did not suit him was the first. He 
forgot to say that he was a great traveller too. Tressan, 
who met him one day en route^ greeted him cheerily : 
" Hullo, Chevalier, how delightful it is to find you 
at home ! " 

Another Chevalier, who was also a favourite at 
Luneville, but somewhat different in character, was the 
Chevalier de Listenay, afterwards Prince Beauffremont, 
who was called the Incomparable Prince. He was good, 
gentle, facile, and easy-going. It was said of him that 
when he opened his mouth his listeners thought he was 
going to yawn and make them yawn, but were surprised 
to find that what he said was not at all dull. 

One of the most beautiful women at court was the 
Comtesse de Lutzelbourg, who took part in the play- 
acting with Mme du Chatelet. A foil to her was 
Mme de Boisgelin, of whom Lauzun said she was " a 
monster of ugliness, but amiable enough, and as coquettish 



The Court of Luneville 319 

as though she had been pretty." Like most of the other 
women at Luneville, she had a goodly share of wit and 
vivacity. Besides these were Mme de Lenoncourt, and 
Mme AUiot, wife of the Intendant of the palace and 
Grand Master of the Ceremonies of Lorraine, who did 
wonders with the king's modest revenue, and kept 
Voltaire on such short commons when he was ill that 
he had to write a letter of complaint denouncing him 
to Stanislas as having refused him bread, wine, and a 
candle, under the pretext that he was a demon of the 
kind it is necessary to exorcise through hunger. 

When Queen Catherina Opalinska died the king no 

longer feared a stern and intimate critic of his tastes, 

and a number of beautiful women and literary men were 

added from time to time to the court, or paid flying 

visits there. " His house was that of a wealthy private 

person," said Condorcet of Stanislas, " but no private 

person could have won the fame near, far and abroad, 

that was won by the Court of Stanislas. An intimate 

picture of the Luneville interior was drawn in the 

Memoirs of the Prince de Beauvau. "He [Stanislas] 

loved the letters and conversation of enlightened men. 

He honoured serious merit, but he wished to live with 

amusing merit. In the family of M. de Beauvau, and 

in the friends of this family, he found society which 

pleased his tastes and his character. This good company 

gathered every day at Mme de Boufflers'. Then the 

king went there and spent several hours. Sometimes 

there was music, more often readings, which were not 

discontinued until gay and interesting conversation 

rendered them useless. 

Mme de Boufflers had a penetrating mind, and, as 
Montaigne says, impulsive. She was intelligent, as 

19 



320 An Eightecnth'Century Marquise 

one must be to appreciate belles-lettres, the arts, and 
society. 

Another picture of the court is from the pen of 
Mme de Ferte-Imbault, daughter of Mme de GeofFrin, 
who passed through Luneville on her way to Plombieres 
in 1748 with Mile de la Roche-sur-Yon, aunt of the 
Prince de Conti. They believed themselves " to be in 
fairyland," and though they had meant to stay only 
three days, three weeks had passed before they realised 
that it was time to go. The king, who was nearly 
seventy, made love to his charming guests as though he 
were only of their own age, which they thought delightful. 
He called Mme de Geoffrin's daughter" son Imbault," or 
" sa chere folle," and seriously contemplated the idea of 
marrying Mile de la Roche-sur-Yon. Mme de Boufflers 
knew better than to be jealous. She was good friends 
with Mme de Ferte-Imbault, who described her as " tres 
dr61esse, fort spirituelle, aimant I'argent, le jeu et les 
galants." 

Another visitor at the same time was Montesquieu. 
'* I was loaded with kindnesses and honours at the court 
of Lorraine," he wrote to the Abbe de Guasco. He 
afterwards became a member of the Academy instituted 
for Stanislas by Tressan. Helvetius also paid a visit to 
the court, and there won his wife. Mile de Ligniville, 
who was " a poor heiress " of one of the best Lorraine 
families. At that time it was an astonishing thing for a 
man of finance to marry into an old family, but through 
the influence of Stanislas, and under the wing of Mme 
de Graffigny the deed was done ; and it was thought 
very tactful on the part of the husband that he avoided 
wearing mourning when the death occurred of the illus- 
trious Prince de Craon, who was connected with his wife. 



The Court of Luneville 321 

President Renault was another visitor, and described 
his host as *' a model for all princes." Poncet de la 
Riviere belonged to the King's Academy, and Voltaire 
said, with more rashness than accuracy, that he was 
packed off because he fell in love with Mme de Boufflers. 
Mesdames, the king's daughters, who were still young, 
and not yet uninteresting, sometimes went to see their 
maternal grandfather ; and a very important individual 
at the court of Stanislas was the dwarf Bebe, aged five 
years, and fifteen inches in height, who amused himself 
by breaking the king's china ornaments, and got com- 
pletely lost one day in a crop of lucerne. 

Into this gay and busy throng came Voltaire, smiling 
and urbane, le philosophe-roi chez le roi-philosophe. He 
told the story in his Memoirs of his first visit with 
Mme du Chatelet, which took place in 1748. His 
account has been much disputed, and Saint-Lambert 
made several comments which are significant enough to 
be quoted in full. 

" My connection with Mme du Chatelet was never 
interrupted ; our friendship and our love of literature 
were unalterable. We lived together both in town and 
out of town. Cirey is situated upon the borders of 
Lorraine, and King Stanislas at that time kept his little 
agreeable court at Luneville. Old and fanatic as he 
was, he still had a friendship with a lady who was neither. 
His affections were divided between Mme la Marquise 
de Boufflers and a Jesuit, whose name was Menou — a 
priest the most daring, the most intriguing I have ever 
known. 

" This man had drawn from King Stanislas, by means 
of his queen, whom he had governed, about a million of 
livres, nearly 42,000 pounds, part of which was employed 



322 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise 

in building a magnificent house for himself and some 
Jesuits of Nancy. This house was endowed with twenty- 
four thousand livres, or a thousand pounds a year, half of 
which supplied his table, and the other half to give away 
to whom he pleased. The King's mistress ^ was not by 
any means so well treated ; she scarcely could get from 
his Polish majesty the wherewithal to buy her petticoats ; 
and yet the Jesuit envied what she had, and was violently 
jealous of her power. They were at open war,^ and the 
poor king had enough to do every day when he came 
from Mass to reconcile his mistress and his confessor. 
Our Jesuit at last, having heard of Mme du Chatelet, 
who was exceedingly well-formed and still tolerably 
handsome, conceived the project of substituting her for 
Mme de Boufflers. 

*' Stanislas amused himself sometimes in writing little 
works, which were bad enough ; and Menou imagined 
an authoress would succeed with him as a mistress better 
than any other. With this fine trick in his head he came 
to Cirey, cajoled Mme du Chatelet, and told us how 
delighted King Stanislas would be to have our company. 
He then returned to the king and informed him how 
ardently we desired to come and pay our court to his 
majesty. Stanislas asked Mme de Boufflers to bring us ; 

1 " Omit the word mistress, it is false, and insert friend. The Marquise 
de Boufflers was a most disinterested friend and seldom used her interest 
but in the service of her friends ; and the expression wherewith to buy her 
petticoats is not at all applicable," — Saint-Lambert. 

^ " Mme de Boufflers never was at variance with father Menou, who, all- 
intriguing as he was, never thought of giving Stanislas Mme du Chatelet for 
a mistress. That lady and M. de Voltaire never were at Luneville, except 
when invited by M. de B * * *, whom they often visited and found very 
amiable. They never went as guests to the King of Poland. If Menou 
really proposed the journey to Voltaire and Mme du Chatelet, it was 
when he was informed they were coming, and to make a merit of it with 
the king." — Saint-Lambert. 



The Court of Luneville 323 

and we went to pass the whole year at Luneville. But 
the projects of the holy Jesuit did not succeed ; the 
very reverse took place : we were devoted to Mme de 
Boufflers, and he had two women to combat instead 
of one. 

" The life led at the Court of Lorraine was tolerably 
agreeable, though there, as in other courts, there was 
plenty of intrigues and artifice." 

The suggestion that Menou desired to supplant the 
** dame de Volupte " by the imperious and erudite Emilie 
has been much disputed by the authorities. Certainly 
there was no love lost between the king's confessor and 
the king's mistress, but the priest who had been friendly 
in earlier days with Mme du Chatelet's father must have 
known Milady Newton too well to have laid any such 
schemes. He may have let fall a word of invitation 
when he visited Cirey at the beginning of 1748, leading 
Voltaire and Emilie to believe that the King of Poland 
was desirous of their company at his court, and on his 
return to Luneville have told Stanislas that the poet 
and his marquise were dying to come and pay him their 
respects ; but there seems no foundation for the statement 
that after a consultation with the king, Mme du Boufflers 
set out for Cirey to fetch the illustrious couple to 
Luneville. 

De Luynes made a note in his Journal of February 24, 
1748, that he had just been informed that Mme du 
Chatelet, who had already played Isse at Sceaux, had 
repeated the opera at Luneville with Mme de Lutzel- 
bourg, and stated that Emilie left Versailles at the 
beginning of the year to go to Cirey with the Marquise 
de Boufflers and Voltaire, and that from thence they went 
to the court of Stanislas. But this account does not 



324 An Eighteenth'Ccntury Marquise 

agree with that of Longchamp, who described the night 
journey in January from Paris to Cirey on snowy roads 
and through hail and sleet, when the hind-spring of the 
carriage gave way, precipitating the divine Emilie, her 
maid, and a mountain of bandboxes and parcels on top 
of the unfortunate poet, who lay almost smothered until 
extricated from the debris by the servants. 

The accident was to be deplored, but it was responsible 
for a glimpse of Emilie, full of revelation of character, 
which is worth much. 

" M. de Voltaire and Mme du Chatelet were seated 
side by side on the cushions of the carriage, which had 
been placed on the snow," continued Longchamp. 
'' There, almost transfixed with cold in spite of their 
furs, they were admiring the beauties of the heavens. 
The sky was perfectly calm and serene, the stars shone 
brilliantly, neither house nor tree was within sight to 
break the line of the horizon. Astronomy had always 
been a favourite study of our two philosophers. Over- 
come by the magnificent spectacle spread out around 
and above them, they discussed, whilst shivering, the 
nature and courses of the stars, and the destination of 
the vast worlds hanging in space. Only telescopes were 
wanting to their perfect happiness. Their minds soaring 
in the profound depths of the sky, they saw nothing of 
their sad position on earth, amidst snow and icicles." 
At that moment she was truly great. Passionless and 
calm, her intellect was in the ascendant. So she should 
have lived and — so died. 

No Mme de Boufflers was present then, nor after- 
wards. On the contrary, they were so much alone that 
they grew tired of arranging the library and the 
laboratory, and of playing tric-trac ; and Emilie wrote to 



The Court of Luneville 325 

Mme de Champbonin, inviting her as a last resource from 
too much solitude. The lady arrived with a schoolgirl 
niece, and for their benefit Mme du Chatelet composed 
farces, proverbs, and riddles, and enlisted her servants 
to act in the little theatre, because there was no one 
else to take part in her plays. Still no word of Mme de 
Boufflers ; though Longchamp is inaccurate in another 
respect, because he says that four months passed thus in 
pleasant amusement, when it was decided to accept the 
invitation of Stanislas to Luneville, whereas in reality 
they went there in February. He also says they went 
to Commercy first. 

None of the letters elucidate these points, but it is 
quite clear that neither Mme du Chatelet nor Voltaire 
required much persuasion to pay the visit in question 
at this juncture of affairs. The former was longing to 
find a lucrative post for her husband ; the latter had 
offended Marie Leczinska, and a visit to her father 
seemed to him to have about it all the charm of defiance. 
The queen's anger had been aroused in two ways — first 
by his laudatory verses to Mme de Pompadour, secondly 
by an apparently trifling misdemeanour, which to those 
at court appeared more serious ; indeed, it struck a blow 
at one of their treasured institutions. Hearing Marie 
Leczinska was angry, Voltaire asked what was his latest 
offence, and was informed that he had written a letter 
to the dauphine in which he had made the statement 
that cavagnole was a boresome game. Was this a mere 
excuse to veil her real annoyance .'' " I quite under- 
stand," he wrote on this point to President Henault from 
Luneville, in February 1748, " that if I had committed 
such a crime, I should merit the most severe chastise- 
ment ; but, in truth, 1 have not the honour of being in 



3^^ An Eighteenth-Century Marquise 

communication with Mme la Dauphine. But he had 
made verses much in the same spirit : 

On croirait que le jeu console, 
Mais I'Ennui vient a pas comptes, 
S'asseoir entre des Majestes, 
A la table d'un cavagnole.^ 

Voltaire should have expressed himself on the point 
some thirty years later. Marie-Josephe de Saxe, what- 
ever she felt in private, was too exemplary a princess to 
express her opinions on cavagnole openly. The dauphine 
who succeeded her, Marie-Antoinette, loathed the game, 
and would have sympathised with the author to the 
utmost. As a matter of fact, Voltaire, in a letter to 
dArgental, indignantly denied having addressed the 
dauphine on the subject. He had sent the verse to 
" quite a different princess,^ whose court was four 
hundred leagues away," and was quite indifferent as to 
whether he had been guilty of lese-majerie or lese- 
cavagnole. 

The visitors arrived at Luneville on February 13, late 
in the evening, and were received with great enthusiasm 
at court. Mme du Chatelet was given a suite of rooms 
on the ground floor of the chateau which had belonged 
to the queen, and Voltaire was on the first floor. Voltaire 
celebrated his arrival by falling seriously ill — too ill to 
express his usual conviction that he was on the point of 
death. Stanislas sent his own doctors, and paid a visit 
to the philosopher's bedside. Never had he been better 
attended. As soon as he was restored to health, a 

* One would imagine that card-games were a solace, 
But Boredom, stalking grim, 

Seats herself between their Majesties 
At the cavagnole table. 

* This was the Princess Ulrica, i§ister to Frederick. 



The Court of Lunevillc 327 

series of festivities was arranged to amuse him and 
Emilie. Plays were acted in which Mme du Chatelet, 
Mme de Boufflers, and Mme de Chabot took part. 
Emilie arranged concerts at which she sang herself, 
and her husband, the marquis, who passed through 
Luneville on his way to rejoin the army, was enchanted 
at his wife's popularity. 

*' My divine Angels," wrote Voltaire to d'Argental and 
his wife on February 14, "I am here at Luneville, 
and why ? King Stanislas is a charming man, but when 
one adds King Augustus to him, stout as they are, in 
one scale and my angels in the other, my angels weigh 
heaviest. 

" I have been ill — but Mme du Chatelet is wonderfully 
well. She sends you the most tender regards. I do not 
know if she will remain here throughout February. As 
for me, who am only a small satellite, I shall follow in 
her orbit cahin-caha. . . . 

" It is true I have been ill, but it is a pleasure to be 
so at the King of Poland's. There is certainly nobody 
who has more care of his invalids than he. It is im- 
possible to be a better king or a better man." 

This letter he followed up with another, to the 
Comtesse d'Argental, on February 25 : 

" My supposed exile would be delightful if I were 
not so far from my angels. Truly the visit here is 
delicious ; it is an enchanted castle of which the master 
does the honours. Mme du Chatelet has discovered the 
secret of playing Isse three times in a very fine theatre — 
and Isse has been a great success. The king's troupe 
played Mero-pe. Believe me, Madame, they cried here 
as much as at Paris. And I, who address you, I forgot 
myself sufficiently to cry like any of the others. 



328 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise 

" We go every day into a kiosk, or from a palace into a 
cottage, and everywhere are feasting and liberty. I think 
Mme du Chatelet would gladly pass the remainder of her 
days here, but I personally prefer the charms of friend- 
ship to all fetes." 

In spite of his remarks to the contrary, Voltaire liked 
to be well entertained, and Emilie was in the seventh 
heaven. " We have had a very charming carnival at 
Shrove-tide," she wrote to d'Argenson on March 2. 
" The King of Poland has loaded me with kindness, and 
it is difficult to leave him." Voltaire summed up the 
court of Luneville in a phrase — " Lansquenet and love." 
The last word was to bear a terrible significance. An 
atmosphere of love is infectious, and Mme du Chatelet 
was not immune. Already, at that hour, busybodies were 
coupling her name with that of Saint-Lambert, but no 
whisper reached Voltaire's ears as yet. 



CHAPTER X 

LOVE AND SAINT-LAMBERT 

THE gaiety, the festivities, the successes and triumphs 
of Mme du Chatelet's life were almost over. 
Tragedy was to follow, all the more pathetic because it 
was fraught with flashes of sardonic humour — a tragedy 
that inspires awe and silences criticism. It is difficult to 
condemn the ill-considered actions of the dying ; when 
the death is the direct result of such actions it is almost 
impossible. Mme du Chatelet's fate was so peculiarly 
the outcome of uncontrolled passion that pity for the 
manner of it is uppermost, and judgment is temporarily 
suspended. 

What kind of man was he for whom she staked her all 
without restriction, without reserve, to whom she offered 
heart, mind, and body, to whom she sacrificed her position, 
her future, her children, her husband, even her friend 
of long standing : Words do not make Saint-Lambert 
live again. They seem as unable to give him charm or 
worth as those beautifully arranged by himself in his 
poem of Les Saisons were to secure for it a place in the 
hearts of his readers. Grimm said of this poem that if 
the author desired his name to be known to posterity he 
must destroy the whole of his work except one or two 
short passages. A man of artistic taste coming across 
these fragments in after-years would point out their 
beauty to a whole nation, and, judging by what he had 

329 



330 An Eightcenth^Century Marquise 

found, expatiate upon the terrible loss that had been 
sustained. " He would reason justly, but be completely 
deceived," concluded Grimm. 

So it seems with Saint-Lambert himself. Were nothing 
known of him but the passionate love for him of 
Mme de Boufflers, of Mme du Chatelet, more than all of 
the sweet-natured and tender-hearted Mme d'Houdetot, 
it would be easy to endow him with all the noble and 
attractive qualities, with all the warmth of feeling and 
generous, if too lavish, affections that might appeal to 
women who greatly differed in character and tastes. But 
to do so is likewise to be wholly deceived. The romantic 
side of Saint-Lambert's career is qualified by the prosaic 
exactness of his other characteristics. From his poems, 
from his letters, from his long and detailed will, in which 
he turns neat phrases about many of his friends, it is 
obvious that the graces, elegances, and charms he possessed 
were of superficial value only ; no impulsive heart beat 
beneath that calm exterior, no nobility or depth of 
purpose inspired him, no unselfish motives led him into 
indiscretion. What he did was done in an ordered 
manner, because he chose to do it, or saw in it some 
chance of benefit, some hope of being thought a wonder- 
ful man and a fine man. 

" Saint-Lambert, with a delicate politeness, though a 
little cold, had in conversation the same elegant turn, the 
same acuteness of mind that you remark in his writings," 
said Marmontel. "Without being naturally gay, he 
became animated by the gaiety of others ; and, on 
philosophical or literary subjects, no one conversed with 
sounder reason or a more exquisite taste. This taste was 
that of the little court of Luneville, where he had lived, 
and the tone of which he had preserved." 




THE MARQUIS DE SAINT-LAMBERT 
Author of '1,65 Saisons " 



331 



Love and Saint'Lambcrt 333 

But no man is good because his taste is exquisite. 
Madame Suard said, " One might esteem him, but one 
could not love him." She may have seen below the 
surface, which some did not, for many women falsified 
her words. At any rate, he was well liked, as such men 
always are, by those who do not seek for deeper qualities 
or genius in reserve. He was good to look at, tall and 
well set-up, with markedly handsome features, and had 
eyes that seemed to utter all that his soul failed to speak. 
His bearing was the military bearing of a good guardsman, 
his intellect the cultured mind of a drawing-room poet. 
He had a seductive manner, and women were impressed 
by such advantages, and did not wait to analyse the other 
qualities before bestowing approbation. 

With a man like Saint-Lambert, once approve and 
the rest is fatally easy. Where there is so much glitter 
it is difficult to believe that real gold does not exist. 
After all, Saint-Lambert, allowing for his limitations, 
was a very impressive person indeed. 

And Mme du Chatelet was duly impressed. She met 
him for the first time during the visit to Luneville in the 
early spring of 1748, and he was never out of her thoughts 
again in this world. Infatuation, obsession, call it what 
you will, was allowed to master her, to carry her away, 
and she bowed low to the god of the period and the 
place — which was passion — and imagined she was wor- 
shipping at a holy shrine. 

And Voltaire saw nothing then. He liked Saint- 
Lambert well enough. He thought him a promising 
writer. When he saw the first verses of Les Saisons he 
believed they were good, rather in the style of Boileau, 
but distinctly good. He called him his " terrible pupil," 
and hoped posterity would be grateful. Mme du Chatelet 



334 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise 

sent some lines by Saint-Lambert to d'Argental from 
Commercy : " I cannot help sending you some verses 
written by a young man of our company here, whom 
you already know from VEpitre a ChloL I feel sure 
they will please you." And then she proceeded to tell 
him that Saint-Lambert was anxious to make his acquaint- 
ance, and was entirely worthy to do so ; that she was 
bringing the young writer to Cirey, and hoped they 
might meet there ; that Voltaire liked him, and wished 
to befriend him. She begged d'Argental's protection 
also for this young man of good birth, a man of Lorraine 
who had no means worth speaking of. 

There seems some doubt as to the exact place of the 
soldier-poet's birth. One authority says at Affracourt, 
another at Vezelis in 1717.^ He was eleven years younger 
than Emilie. By his own account in the preface to L,es 
Saisons he was brought up in the country among agri- 
culturists. He had studied nature, and thought he under- 
stood and loved her. His temperament was poetic, and 
he desired to sing of the things he loved, to tell of the 
beauty of the world around him. Mme du Deffand 
made by far the best comment on the manner in which 
he fulfilled this ambition. " Sans les oiseaux, les ruisseaux, 
les hameaux, les ormeaux et leur rameaux il aurait bien 
peu de choses a dire." Nor was she satisfied with this, 
for she declared the author "un esprit froid, fade et faux." 
Walpole agreed with her. The poem was somnolent, 
" four fans spun out into a Georgic," and the poet, he 
declared, was a great jackanapes and a very tiny genius. 
Perhaps the best criticism of Les Saisons was that it was 
equally impossible to find fault with it in parts or endure 
it as a whole. 

' Puymaigre, Comte de, Poetes et Romanciers de la Lorraine. 



Love and Saint'Lambert 335 

For more than fifteen years the poet worked on this, 
his chef d'oeuvre. It was published twenty years after 
Mme du Chatelet's death, and was dedicated to Mme 
d'Houdetot, under the name of Doris. Rousseau's Sophie 
was the exact opposite of Mme du Chatelet. She possessed 
no pretensions, no coquetry ; nothing could ruffle her 
temper, nothing could chill her childlike trust. The 
liaison between them lasted half a century. In his will 
he left her a clock, which she was to place in her room, 
and when she heard it strike she was to recall to mind the 
fact that for fifty years he had consecrated to her with 
pleasure a large proportion of the hours of his life. 

Saint-Lambert was in the fashion. Was he not the 
successful rival in love of a Voltaire and a Rousseau } 

Even as she went to him with both hands full of love, 
Emilie realised that she must not expect complete sur- 
render in return. Her bitterness was in learning that 
it was not in his power to love her as she loved him. At 
first she had hoped for everything. Ever since the first 
meeting at Luneville she threw herself with a will into 
the affair ; she treasured every glance, every word of his 
that promised her affection. They played at being young 
and sentimental lovers, these two, who were man and 
woman of the world, and who abandoned all restraint 
because they saw no necessity for exerting any. They 
wrote little notes every few hours to one another, and 
chose romantic hiding-places in those great rooms of the 
chateau which were convenient to conceal a post-box. 
Hers were warm, passionate, and full of tenderness, the 
letters of a woman infatuated by a man much younger 
than herself, who knew she was throwing the last die 
in the game of love, and who was convinced that the 
game was the one most worth playing in life. " Yes, 



33^ An Eighteenth'Century Marquise 

I love you. Everything tells you that ; everything will 
always tell you. ... I adore you, and it seems to me 
that when one loves one can do no wrong," she wrote 
in the little notes that were hidden in a harp ; and the 
glances they exchanged were cautious glances ; neither 
Mme de Boufflers nor Voltaire were to pierce the masks 
they wore, to realise that they loved with a delight that 
was none the less attractive because of the need of mystery 
and concealment. 

What a contrast was this love to that she had lavished 
on Voltaire ! She had had so much that was intellectual 
from him that she rejoiced in an affection of the heart. 
It was simpler, less exacting, even more compelling. She 
reasoned that she had been faithful to a man who had 
long ceased to love her as a lover should, that she had 
found it impossible to live without something warmer and 
more personal than companionship and Intellectual Interest. 
She wrote her apologia to d'Argental : 

" God gave me one of those tender and constant natures 
which can neither moderate nor disguise their passions, 
which know neither weakening nor distaste, and of which 
the tenacity resists everything, even the certainty of not 
being loved. For ten years I have been made happy 
through the love of him who has subjugated my affec- 
tions, and I have passed these ten years entirely in his 
company, without a moment of disgust or languor, when 
age, sickness, perhaps even satiety, lessened his affection 
for me. I was a long time without perceiving it. I 
loved enough for both of us. I passed my life wholly 
with him ; and my heart, free from suspicion, rejoiced in 
the delights of loving and of believing myself beloved. It 
is true that I have lost this happy condition of mind, and 
that I have only lost it at the cost of many tears, 



Love and Saint ^Lambert 337 

" There have to be terrible blows struck before chains 
long-fettered fall away, and the wound in my heart has 
bled for a long while. I might have complained ; instead 
I pardoned all. I felt that perhaps mine was the only 
heart in the world that was so constant, the only one 
that could defy the power of time ; that if age and illness 
had not destroyed his passion it would still have been 
mine ; that love would have restored him to me ; that his 
heart, incapable of anything warmer, held for me the most 
tender friendship. The certainty that it was impossible 
his inclination and passion should return — for 1 know such 
a thing is not natural — brought my heart by degrees to feel 
only a calm sentiment of friendship, and this sentiment, 
joined to a passion for study, rendered me happy enough. 

*' But can a heart so tender be quite filled by so calm 
and feeble a sentiment as friendship . . . ? " 

When she wrote that letter she was still reasoning, 
still trying to justify herself. Before long reason was 
silenced, feelings alone spoke. She ceased to struggle. 
She gave herself up to the charm of this novel emotion 
as though she had never experienced anything like it in 
her life before. 

The harp seemed but a poor and slow repository for 
secret vows. Hers were penned on lace-edged paper tied 
with a ribbon of pink or blue. The lovers must needs 
take into their confidence before long his valet and 
her maid. They were both kept busy carrying letters, 
running errands, even bearing verbal messages. Saint- 
Lambert fell ill. The marquise did not attempt to hide 
her anxiety. She advised this remedy and that ; she sent 
him tea, soup (to be taken an hour after his medicine), 
a wing of partridge, a morsel of chicken — any delicacy 
her mind could devise which might help him to regain 

20 



33 8 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise 

strength. He must open the windows and ventilate his 
room, she said. She sent him sweet-smelling pastilles to 
make the air pleasant. She played the nurse to him 
better than she had ever played it to Voltaire ; she 
would kill her patient with kindness if she could. But 
at all costs she must see him, or she would die. Dis- 
guised in a large cloak she went to his room, where she 
stayed the greater part of the night nursing him. 

All this devotion touched him. His affection grew 
a little warmer. " You have never been more tender, 
more lovable, more adored," he wrote ; and he composed 
a little verse for her, which she thought delightful. Her 
letters, on the other hand, were full of passion. Each 
one breathed the same adoration, each ended in the 
same refrain : "I love you ; with all my soul I love 
you." As Saint-Lambert improved in health he became 
less demonstrative, he recovered his dignity a little. He 
was his natural self, " froid et galant " ; she preferred him 
to be " colere et tendre." She expected him in vain in 
her rooms. His soup awaited him there, and was grow- 
ing cold — far colder than she, who was waiting too. 
"The greatest sign of indifference one can give is not 
to be with those one loves when it can be done without 
fear of discovery." When he arrived she reproached 
him with his absence, and then reproached herself for 
giving way to anger. " Forgive me," she wrote. " Be- 
lieve that I only desire to be amiable, gentle, estimable, 
and to be loved and esteemed by you. ... I know my 
faults, but I wish you to ignore them. . . . You wrote 
me five letters yesterday. What a day ! I did wrong 
to spoil the end of it." 

All too soon the parting came — an unavoidable although 
only temporary separation, delayed to the last possible 



Love and Saint 'Lambert 339 

moment. At the beginning of March the Lun6vilie visit 
was broken by a few days at Malgrange. Then Stanislas 
left for Versailles to see his daughter, Mme de Boufflers, 
and Voltaire accompanied him to Paris, and Mme de Cha- 
telet returned to Cirey to look after the farmers there. 
This was the arrangement she preferred. Saint-Lambert 
had left for Nancy to rejoin his regiment. With a lover's 
ingenuity she managed to have business to do in Nancy, 
and spent some days there with her lover. Before they 
parted she begged him to come to Cirey. He promised 
to do so, but his promise did not ring with enough sin- 
cerity to please her. She felt a little chilled as she left 
the spot where they had been together, and as she 
travelled away from the object of her adoration she felt 
it necessary to pour out to him all that was in her soul. 
She wrote to him from Bar-le-Duc, after they had 
parted at Nancy : " All my mistrust of your character, 
all my resolution against loving you, cannot save me 
from that love with which you have inspired me " — she 
was not quite blinded then. " I no longer attempt to 
combat it — I feel the futihty of that. The time I spent 
with you at Nancy has increased it to a point which 
astonishes myself. Still, far from reproaching myself, I 
feel an extreme pleasure in loving you, and it is the 
only one which can lessen the pain of your absence." 
And then she told him that only when she was with 
him could she be completely contented, because she knew 
that though his inclination was strong he did not yet 
know how to love. " I feel sure that to-day you will be 
more gay and more spirituel than ever at Luneville, and 
this idea is afflicting apart from all other anxiety. \i 
you cannot love me otherwise than feebly — if your heart 
be incapable of giving without reserve, of being occupied 



34° An Eighteenth'Century Marquise 

wholly with me, of loving me without limit or measure — 
what good will my heart be to you ? I am tormented 
by these reflections, but they occupy me ceaselessly." 
And then in a spirit of contradiction she suddenly burst 
out with the truth : " I am afraid I am doing wrong in 
loving you too much." Her reflections, her struggles, 
all that she felt, proved this to her. As she gave more, 
he might vouchsafe her less. " Come to Cirey and show 
me that I am wrong. ... I shall expect you there, do 
not doubt it." Saint-Lambert spoke of going to Italy, 
but she begged him to sacrifice the journey and stay 
with her. " Without such a sacrifice I should not have 
believed in your love for me." And yet she was afraid 
that even whilst they spoke the same language they could 
not fail to misunderstand one another. That would be 
the penalty of marked difl^erences in their respective 
natures ; they could not give the same rendering to the 
word " love." Yet her passion for him efi^aced every 
other consideration. Agitated as she was, she saw the 
man she had to deal with clearly, and judged him with 
perspicacity. 

By chance her passionate letters were delayed in reach- 
ing Nancy, and her silence awoke in Saint-Lambert a 
renewal of his devotion to her. " Why," she replied, 
" should I owe the most tender letter which I have ever 
received from you to the grief you felt in not hearing 
from me ? It is necessary not to write to you, then, in 
order to be loved ^ But if that be so, you will soon not 
love me any more, for I must tell you of the pleasure 
your letter gave me. . . . See how much power you 
have over me, and how easily you' can appease the rage 
which at times is aroused in my soul." 

Thinking himself temporarily forgotten, Saint-Lambert 



Love and Saint'Lambert 341 

had reproached her for inconstancy, for having mistaken 
an attraction for a great love ; such attachments, he 
thought, she must often have felt. In reply she assured 
him that for fifteen years her heart had turned only 
in one direction, and that he alone had shown her she 
was still capable of loving in another. *' If you love me 
as I wish to be loved, as I merit it, and as it is necessary 
to love in order to be happy, I shall only have thanks to 
render to love. . . ." 

As he travelled back to Luneville, he wrote to her en 
route : 

*' I only left Nancy after the post, because I had written 
to the postman to send your letters there to me. I 
awaited, then, this morning the treasures which I ought 
to have received on Wednesday. 

"I received them. I enjoyed them on the journey. 
Alas 1 they could not prevent my feeling that I had 
put five leagues more distance between us. Here I am 
then, mon cher amour , in a spot where I have lost that 
precious liberty which each day becomes more precious. 

*• The king received me with his usual kindness. He 
is certainly the one 1 like the best of all his court. I am 
more than ever determined to give my time only to him, 
and not to take more distraction during my journey than 
that which my health absolutely demands. I return to 
your letter. I must have been very much in despair to 
have only written you four words on the day I left you. 
I had to tell you all that I usually say to you, all that 
I make you understand, and then all my regrets. Be 
sure of it, mon cher amours they have never been more 
keen, as true, and less susceptible of being weakened 
or scattered. The journey tired me without making me 
forget you." 



34^ An Eighteenth^Century Marquise 

He told her that the melancholy he felt was natural 
to him, and that it grew more overwhelming in her 
absence. Existence was painful to him, and he only 
valued it when he remembered that she loved him. 
Man cher cceur^ he called her, mon cher amour ; and begged 
her to tell him everything she did and what her husband 
did, and to take the greatest care of her health. Never 
had he felt a more impassioned interest nor a more 
tender one in all that she was, that she felt, that she 
did, or that she might become. . . . *' If you only knew 
what a treasure I possess in you, you would look after 
yourself well. Feel assured that all the keen and 
delicious impressions which I have received from you 
are preserved in my heart, are even increased, will always 
be preserved. It is impossible that anything but you 
can encompass my happiness. I shall always be filled 
to the brim with my tenderness for you and content to 
experience it." 

This letter is a characteristic one. It defines Saint- 
Lambert's limitations admirably. His personal charm did 
not lie in his mental equipment, and therefore eludes the 
biographer, who can only fail in trying to give life to 
physical perfection. 

To all her expressed wishes that he should come to 
Cirey he gave undecided answers. He hinted that so far 
Voltaire lived in the perfect ignorance that was bliss. It 
would be a pity to risk undeceiving him. Besides, he 
spoke again of the contemplated journey to Tuscany with 
the Prince de Beauvau. Mme du Chatelet gave vent to 
a storm of indignation. She assured him that there 
were no fears to be entertained on the score of Voltaire, 
who was too busy to take notice of what went on — so, at 
one time,..she had assured Voltaire that the Marquis du 



Love and Saint-Lambert 343 

Chatelet would have nothing to say against his presence — 
and that on no account must he think of leaving Nancy 
for England or Tuscany. " I demand this sacrifice of 
you," she repeated. Nor could she bear the thought 
that Mme de Boufflers was privileged to see more of her 
lover than she herself. She knew something of the 
affection there had been once between these two, and 
she feared lest in her absence it might be renewed. 

It was the oft-told tale : the woman whose love is her 
whole life, the man to whom it is an episode. Although 
played by two very different characters and in quite other 
circumstances, the same note of tragedy is in Mme du 
Chatelet's prayers as in those of Mile de Lespinasse. 
They both gave their all ; they both received a shadow 
in return. Saint-Lambert was not playing the double 
game of the Comte de Guibert, nor was Mme du 
Chatelet's remorse on Voltaire's account half as poignant 
as that of Mile de Lespinasse for Mora. Mme du 
Chatelet was better balanced, more masculine, less fettered 
by convention or scruples than the highly-strung neurotic 
adopted sister of d'Alembert. Yet both of them were in 
the grip of the uncontrollable passion which was to carry 
them remorselessly to the tomb. 

Saint-Lambert gave of his best. He turned his 
happiest phrases and bared his tenderest thoughts for 
her ; but no woman of her temperament could fail to see 
the want of spontaneity, of life in his protestations. 

When at last he paid the promised visit to Cirey, it 
was to spend but twenty-four hours there ; but at least 
in that brief spell of happiness all their differences were 
temporarily forgotten. 

In after-years the author of Les Saisons put his own 
words into the mouth of his friend the Prince de Beauvau, 



344 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise 

and gave an impersonal description of the woman who for 
a time had held him in the thrall of reflected passion. 
With the help of the Princesse de Beauvau he wrote her 
husband's life. Mme du Chatelet and the brother of 
Mme de Boufflers were naturally enough good friends ; 
but the following portrait is probably largely the work 
of the man who had known its subject far more inti- 
mately than the Prince. It is chiefly interesting on that 
account. 

*' Much in the society of the Duchesses de Luxembourg, 
de Boufflers, and de la Valliere, the Prince de Beauvau 
met Mme du Chatelet at their houses. He appreciated 
the merit of her intelligence, which delighted equally in 
the truth of science and the beauties of art. The studies, 
in truth, which occupied her the most were not those in 
which M. de Beauvau sought to instruct himself; but 
Mme du Chatelet brought into society the desire to 
know men, and that keenness of observation which be- 
comes the habit of philosophy. This philosophy she hid 
with care in the frivolous circles by which she was sur- 
rounded. She never appeared to have more knowledge 
than the others. It was necessary to have a great deal, 
before she cared to show hers. Nevertheless some of it 
was perceived, and enough to rouse vanity and envy. 
That which M. de Beauvau particularly liked in Mme du 
Chatelet was her simplicity, her candour, a facility for 
pardoning all those who gave her cause for complaint, 
and finally the heart which had never known hatred 
except for the enemies of her friends, the heart which 
made her think well of all individuals, although she 
believed much evil of the race." Saint-Lambert's powers 
of cold analysis are very apparent in this description. 

In May Voltaire and Emilie spent a short time at 



Love and Saint^Lambert 345 

Cirey, and went on to Paris, where they stayed through- 
out June. 

Mme du Chatelet was more in love than ever. This 
time Panpan was taken into her confidence and charged 
with her voluminous letters, which he saw safely to their 
destination. Mme de Boufflers was staying in Paris, 
and this was a relief; but the stay was a short one, and no 
sooner had she returned to Luneville than Saint-Lambert 
left Nancy for the Court, and all Mme du Chatelet's 
jealous fears were renewed. His letters were never so 
long from there as from Nancy, nor so tender. It 
seemed to her an odd coincidence. " Why do you not 
love me as much when you are at Luneville as you do 
at Nancy ? " she asked, and the answer did not altogether 
dispel her misgivings. 

And so the sad story went on. She was dissatified, 
doubting, unhappy ; he careless, lax in writing, and 
indifferent. " You love to torment my soul," she cried ; 
" you are unpardonably capricious." When he addressed 
her as " my dear mistress," this tenderness filled her 
momentarily with joy. 

At last he informed her that he had given up all 
thoughts of going to England or to Tuscany. " You 
are not going to Tuscany, and you are not going on 
my account ? " she repeated over and over to him. " If 
you knew how that rejoices my heart. I adore you, 
I adore you ! " 

She sent him a portrait concealed in a watch. He 
liked it none the less because Voltaire possessed a similar 
one. All he had asked was that in the portrait she 
should be dressed the same as when she acted in Isse. 
Another present was far less romantic ; it consisted of a 
bottle of special hair-oil, which she assured him would 



34^ An Eightecnth^Ccntury Marquise 

have marvellous results. If he thought she ought not 
to have sent it, he might return the compliment if he 
liked by sending her a bottle of lamp-oil, which was 
exactly the same price ! 

Knowing that Saint-Lambert was writing a poem on 
the Seasons, she was troubled because the Abbe de 
Bernis had chosen the same subject. She therefore 
invited the latter to supper, and listened to all his 
verses. When she found that Saint-Lambert knew of 
them already, she was disappointed that her sacrifice had 
been in vain. 

To her distress Saint-Lambert informed her that he 
had had a quarrel with Mme de Boufflers. She was 
afraid of being drawn into it, and she would have been 
grieved if a shadow should come between herself and 
Mme de Boufflers, whom she sincerely loved. Saint- 
Lambert, however, was not well pleased that they should 
be intimate, and something of this she read in his letters. 
" I will not dislike Mme de Boufflers, whatever you may 
say to me. Her letters always contradict yours. I am 
much more content with her friendship than with your 
love. . . . Mme de Boufflers cares for me more than 
you do." 

She was anxious at this time to obtain a post for 
M. du Chatelet at the court of Stanislas, and expected 
both the marquise and Saint-Lambert (whose influence 
was very little) to help in securing the appointment, 
which meant much to her, because it would facilitate her 
being at Luneville with her lover more frequently. Her 
anxiety made her restless and quite ill, and her lamenta- 
tions bored Saint-Lambert, who failed to write regularly. 
This rendered her case still worse, and her complaints 
increased. 



Love and Saint^Lambert 347 

The marquis had a serious rival in the Comte de 
Bercheny, whose father had been of service to the King 
of Poland. On June 5 Emilie wrote to Saint-Lambert 
that if Bercheny should receive the appointment it would 
be impossible for M. du Chatelet or herself to set foot 
in Lorraine again, since nothing could make it support- 
able for them to endure the sight of a Hungarian and a 
junior commanding in his place. " My friendship for 
Voltaire alone renders this thought unendurable ; judge, 
then, how it affects me, when I dream that I might have 
spent my life with you there, and that we should have 
had other voyages to Cirey together." 

Voltaire wrote to d'Argental on the same subject 
on June 20. " Mme du Chatelet has met with a 
thousand terrible disappointments with regard to the 
appointment in Lorraine. It has been necessary to fight 
for it, and I joined in the campaign. She won the battle, 
but the war still continues. It is necessary that she 
should go to Commercy, and I shall go as well." 

The desired appointment was confirmed in November 
of that year. De Luynes mentions it in his Journal of 
the 24th of the month : *' About a week ago the King 
of Poland created the post of Grand-Marshal of the 
Household with a salary of two thousand crowns for 
M. le Marquis du Chatelet-Lomont, a man of good rank 
but not rich." 

Bercheny was made Grand Equerry to Stanislas and 
Governor of Commercy. 

Emilie's visit to this chateau was fixed for the begin- 
ning of July. She left Paris with Voltaire on June 29. 
She had spent a sleepless night, being overcome with joy 
at the prospect of meeting her lover. She was ill and 
agitated, but her love had increased beyond all bounds. 



34^ An Eighteenth^Century Marquise 

At five o'clock that morning she was writing to him. 
" I do not know if your heart is worthy of so much 
impatience . . . but I am dying of impatience to tell 
you how much I love you." 

When the travellers arrived at Chalons, Mme du 
Ch^telet, who was feeling fatigued with the journey, 
stopped at the Bell Inn to order a cup of soup. The 
landlady, discovering the identity of the illustrious 
travellers, brought the refreshment to the carriage herself, 
armed with a serviette, a china plate, and silver cover. She 
demanded a louis in payment of the modest repast ; an 
argument ensued, a crowd collected, and the disputants 
grew more and more heated. Voltaire paid the gold to 
close a disagreeable scene, but woe to him who thereafter 
mentioned the bouillon of Chalons in his presence ! 

When the travellers at length arrived at Commercy, 
to Mme du Chatelet's intense disappointment her lover 
was nowhere to be found in the chateau or in the village. 
She sat down and wrote an angry letter, abusing him for 
his coldness. *' I suppose I have come too soon. I did 
not expect to pass the night in scolding you, but I scold 
myself far more for having shown you my extreme 
eagerness. I shall know how to moderate my transports 
in future, and to take your coldness as a model. Fare- 
well. I was much happier yesterday evening, for I was 
expecting to find you loving." 

When Saint-Lambert arrived on the scene next day he 
was speedily forgiven. 

There was far less restraint at Commercy than at 
Luneville. At the latter chateau the court was so 
crowded that the lovers had to take the utmost precau- 
tions to prevent their secret becoming known to every 
one. At Commercy, however, the restraint of prying 



Love and Saint'-Lambert 349 

eyes was removed. Mme du Chatelet had rooms on 
the ground floor. Voltaire was on the first floor. Mme 
de Boufflers, who was frequently with the king, was 
lodged close to the orangery. Intimate gatherings took 
place every evening in her private apartments. Some- 
times Voltaire read his works, sometimes there was music. 
Stanislas never supped, and retired to his own rooms 
early. After he had disappeared the others grew more 
lively. Saint-Lambert had not been invited to Commercy 
because the king was jealous of his friendship for Mme 
de Boufllers, and therefore did not like him. But he 
was staying incognito at the house of the cure^ which 
was not far from the orangery. It was possible to see 
the windows of Mme de Boufflers' rooms from those he 
occupied. A light placed in one of them informed the 
young guardsman when the King of Poland had gone 
to his room and the coast was clear. 

Saint-Lambert, who had the key of the orangery and 
a dark lantern, needed no other invitation than this signal 
to join the merry company. Supper was served without 
the knowledge of the royal host by some of Mme de 
Boufflers' trusted servants, and the festivities were often 
prolonged well into the night. Occasionally, unknown 
to Mme de Boufflers and Voltaire, Saint-Lambert did not 
wait for the beacon of light to welcome him before making 
his way to Mme du Chatelet's apartments before the 
hour of the evening meal. The lovers made many oppor- 
tunities of seeing each other. The grounds were large 
and secluded. They picnicked in the forest ; they rowed 
on the grand canal ; together they fed the swans. Some- 
times they stayed out until late at night. Once, as she 
was crossing the gardens in the dark, Emilie fell into a 
ditch and bruised herself. 



35° An Eighteenth'Century Marquise 

But Voltaire saw nothing of what was going on. He 
was occupied with his ill-health and his work. 

Love-making was not Emilie's only occupation at 
Commercy. She threw herself with wonderful energy 
into the usual fetes and spectacles she always enjoyed. She 
played in Dufresny's comedy, Le Double Veuvage^ in the 
Sylphe^ a comedy by Saint-Foix, and in opera. It was 
suggested that the d'Argentals, who had spent June at 
Plombieres, should stay at Cirey, but their hosts could 
not arrange to return there in time, and Voltaire invited 
them to Commercy instead, an invitation they refused. 
By the middle of the month Stanislas left for Versailles 
to see the queen, and Mme de Boufflers and Mme du 
Chatelet went to Plombieres. It was the king's wish that 
Emilie should go there. Personally she would rather 
have stayed at Lun6ville with Saint-Lambert. The 
Vicomte d'Adhemar, a friend of Mme de Boufflers, 
accompanied them. Mile de la Roche-sur-Yon was there 
taking the waters. Marie Leczinska had been known 
to say that Plombieres was the most horrid place in the 
world. Emilie endorsed this opinion. 

" Think of our contrary destiny," she wrote to 
d'Argental. " Here am I at Plombieres, and you are 
here no longer." Mme de Boufflers fell ill, and the stay 
lasted far longer than she had expected. She was restless 
and unhappy, hardly able to endure what she called ^* cet 
infernal s6jour." To smother her discontent she worked 
ten hours a day, and wrote humorously to Saint-Lambert 
that they were lodged like dogs, and she regretted that 
there was no room for him in the house in which they 
were staying, because there were already fifty people there, 
and also it was dear enough to ruin him. The sleeping 
accommodation was so bad that rooms were divided off 



Love and Saint'-Lambert 351 

by hanging tapestry, and the next compartment to hers 
was occupied by a farmer-general. Every word could 
be overheard, and there was no privacy at all. " When 
any one comes to see you every one is aware of it," she 
wrote ; " they can look into the room." Life seemed 
very monotonous at Plombieres. Coffee was served at 
two o'clock, and she took it in the company of Mile de 
la Roche-sur-Yon ; then she saw her again at supper, 
which was at eight o'clock. At eleven every one went 
to bed. Mme de Boufflers was happy enough. She was 
better in health, and had M. d'Adhemar to amuse her. 

From Saint-Lambert there were grumbling letters. 
Why had not she stayed with him .? Or if she could 
not do that, why could he not have gone with her ? 
But though they both grumbled they were as much in 
love as ever. " Do you love me with this ardour, this 
warmth, this transport which is the charm of my life ? " 
she asked him. " It is a long time till Monday — but on 
Monday I shall be happy. . . . Every day I bless the 
love with which I love you and you love me. It seems 
to me that a love so tender, so true, can bear anything — 
even absence." As she continued to write, her letters grew 
more animated, more extravagant. Never were written 
words more impassioned. The separation was nearly 
over : four more days, two more days, thirty-six hours — 
and then a disappointment. Mme de Boufflers, finding 
Plombieres very agreeable, refused to leave. Emilie 
communicated this distressing news to her lover. " You 
would pity me if you could see my extreme discomfort 
and boredom. . . . Imagine me left alone in a pigsty 
day after day." Even her work had failed her. She 
could settle down to nothing. " Mon Dieu, how un- 
happy, sad, cross, and odious I am to myself and every 



35^ An Eighteenth'Century Marquise 

one else ! It is awful ! I might be with you, and I am 
still here." 

Nor did the letters she received from Saint-Lambert 
tend to put her in a better frame of mind. She read 
them and re-read them, but to no avail. She could not 
put passion into words that had been written without it. 
" The third page is ridiculous, offensive," she wrote of 
one. She could see no tenderness in it. " I do not 
know whether it would not be better not to be loved at 
all, than to be loved by some one who reproaches himself 
for his love." Moreover, her lover was careless enough 
to mention the names of several other women in whose 
society he endeavoured to make time pass more pleasantly. 
He was having a flirtation with a Mme de Thianges, with 
a Mme de Bouthillier. It was outrageous, insupportable. 
Why was not he fully occupied with thoughts of her ? 
If he had the slightest idea how unhappy she was, he 
could not have possibly enjoyed the least distraction or 
coquetry. In the hope of bringing back his whole heart 
into her keeping, she poured out more amorous phrases, 
more protestations of eternal affection. 

Then a little incident happened which caused un- 
pleasantness between her and Mme de Boufflers. The 
latter received a letter addressed in Saint-Lambert's hand- 
writing. Emilie saw so much. When the recipient had 
read it, she tore it into fragments. The next day he wrote 
again to Mme de Boufflers, but sent the letter unsealed 
under cover of one to Mme du Chatelet. In the letter 
he had used the words that he loved her madly, and that 
he would never cease to adore her. Mme du Chatelet 
was thunderstruck. She could not well have been other- 
wise. "What do you mean by it.''" she asked him. 
" Is such a thing tolerable ? You have deceived me. 



Love and Saint^Lambert 353 

But I cannot believe that you love her. If I believed it, 
I should believe you a monster of deception and duplicity. 
Still, one does not adore one's friend^ nor love her madly ! " 

Everything seemed clear to her at that moment. Her 
suspicions were poisoning her life. She suffered terribly, 
more especially because she had confided in Mme de 
Boufflers, had spoken constantly to her of Saint-Lambert. 
If only she could leave Plombieres ! But when she ap- 
pealed to Mme de Boufflers on this matter, she learnt that 
the latter was still in no hurry to move. In a temper 
she decided to leave without her. There was a scene 
between the two, and not till September 6 did the stay 
at Plombieres come to an end. 

In the meantime Voltaire was once more setting out 
from Paris (where he had been superintending the pro- 
duction of Semiramis), for Luneville. At Chalons — the 
unlucky stopping-place — he was taken so ill that he 
could proceed no farther. As usual, he imagined he was 
dying. This time Longchamp believed him, and sent 
word to Mme Denis and Mme du Chatelet. The latter, 
who was back at Luneville, despatched a courier post- 
haste for news, but did not go herself After a few 
days' illness, Voltaire insisted on finishing his journey, 
and joined Emilie at the Court of Stanislas about 
September 14. 

Mme du Chatelet had many causes for anxiety. Not 
only was she deceiving Voltaire, but Saint-Lambert was 
not as devoted as she could have wished, and Mme de 
Boufflers was showing unmistakable signs of jealousy, 
and was no longer friendly. " I love your injustice," 
she wrote to Saint-Lambert, on October 8, from Com- 
mercy, "but not hers. ... I fear her because it is in 
her power to separate us." 

21 



354 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise 

This second visit to Commercy disclosed to Voltaire 
the nature of Mme du Chatelet's infidelity. Longchamp 
told the story of his surprise and resentment. Leaving 
his room before he had been told supper was ready, 
Voltaire entered Emilie's apartments without being 
announced, as he found no servant in the antechamber. 
He crossed the room without seeing anybody, and in 
the little boudoir at the end he found Mme du Ch^telet 
and M. de Saint-Lambert on a sofa, " talking of things 
that were neither poetry nor philosophy." Overcome 
with astonishment and indignation, he was unable to 
control his temper. He burst into violent reproaches. 
M. de Saint-Lambert, still calm and unmoved, asked him 
how he dared to question his conduct. Any one who 
did so, he said, had only to leave the room and the 
castle too, and he would follow to justify his actions 
in a more suitable place. Voltaire withdrew. He was 
beside himself. He went straight up to his room, ordered 
Longchamp to get a carriage immediately at all costs, as 
he had decided to return to Paris at once. 

Not being able to understand the cause of this sudden 
decision, Longchamp appealed to Mme du Chatelet, 
hoping she would be able to throw some light on the 
matter. She told him that Voltaire had been annoyed 
at finding Saint-Lambert in her boudoir, and that every- 
thing possible must be done to hinder his departure and 
prevent gossip. She asked him not to carry out the 
instructions given him by his master in a moment of 
anger, and assured him she knew how to manage and 
appease Voltaire. First of all, he must be allowed to 
get over his worst anger. It was only necessary to keep 
him at Commercy until the following day. At two o'clock 
in the morning Longchamp informed Voltaire that it was 



Love and Saint'Lambcrt 355 

impossible to get a carriage in the village for love or 
money. He ordered him to obtain one from Nancy at 
the earliest possible hour in the morning. This decision 
Longchamp communicated to Mme du Chatelet, who 
was still sitting up writing. She asked whether Voltaire 
had quietened down, and said she would go to see him 
herself. 

Longchamp admitted her into Voltaire's room, lit 
candles, and discreetly withdrew. Mme du Chatelet 
seated herself at the foot of Voltaire's bed, and spoke 
for a long time to him in English, calling him by a 
pet name she had often used. She explained that she 
was fond of him still, but that she felt the need of a 
warmer sympathy than he could give her, and that she 
had found it in the heart of one of his friends. She 
appealed to his reason ; she begged him not to come 
between her and her chance of happiness ; she made him 
admit at last that there was much to be said on her side. 
" But since things are as they are," he added, not without 
bitterness, " at least do not flaunt your infidelity before 
my very eyes." 

Voltaire found it necessary to summon all his philo- 
sophy to his aid. In addition to jealousy roused by the 
knowledge that a friend had robbed him of the affections 
of his mistress, he was conscious of many sacrifices for her 
sake — amongst them the refusal of favours offered by the 
King of Prussia. All this counted for nothing, then, in 
her eyes. The wound she had dealt him was a sore one. 

What would Emilie have done if Voltaire had aban- 
doned her for a younger and better-looking woman ? It 
would be painful to call up to the imagination her cries, 
her pleadings, and her recriminations. One thing is 
certain, however. She could never have taken a defection 



35^ An Eightecnth^Ccntury Marquise 

on his part in so generous a manner as he took the 
blow she had dealt him. It was decided at that strange 
interview that the intellectual intimacy which meant much 
to both of them should be continued as though nothing 
at all had happened to disturb it. 

The reconciliation between the former lovers being 
sealed by an embrace, and the new relationship between 
them having been clearly defined, Emilie had still a difficult 
and disagreeable task to perform. She had to console 
Saint-Lambert, who felt aggrieved at the manner in which 
Voltaire had treated him. She persuaded him to take 
the first steps towards a reconciliation with Voltaire ; and 
the next day the young guardsman went to the philo- 
sopher's room and apologised for the angry words which 
had escaped him in a moment of agitation. Perhaps at 
no moment does Voltaire appear more generous than 
when he shook hands with Saint- Lambert and said, " My 
dear fellow, I have forgotten all that. 1 was in the wrong. 
At your age you should still love and be loved. The 
years of youth pass all too quickly. An old invalid like 
myself has done with such things." 

That evening all three actors in this strange drama 
supped with Mme de Boufflers. 

Voltaire was soon calm enough to make verses on 
what had taken place. They are reckoned among his 
finest : 

Saint-Lambert, ce n'est que pour toi 
Que ces belles fleurs sont ecloses : 
Cast ta main qui cueille les roses, 
Et les epines sont pour moi.* 

Even though it may have been partly true, as has 
often been suggested, that Voltaire had of late found the 

* Only for thee, Saint-Lambert, lovely flowers bloom ; thy hand gathers . 
the roses, the thorns remain for me. 



Love and Saint^Lambcrt 357 

bond between himself and Mme du Chatelet irksome, 
that he was wearied by her exactions, her tantrums, her 
jealous claims upon his time, that there had been many 
painful scenes between them, many fresh beginnings, 
many hours of regret, perhaps even of remorse, it can- 
not be doubted that in the main they were well mated. 
They had loved each other with a wild, unreasoning 
delight in each other's intellectual gifts — a delight born 
of highly strung, imaginative temperaments — but none 
the less sincefely because not always harmoniously. The 
problem Mme du Chatelet and Voltaire endeavoured to 
solve was a problem involving strife between claims of 
intellect and claims of sex — -things quite as incompatible 
in their way, and as hard to mingle satisfactorily as true 
love and pecuniary considerations. In their case it was 
the woman who allowed the claims of sex to master her, 
and spoil the calm relationship of many years' standing. 

In spite of the upheaval in his life, Voltaire was busy 
with his history of the campaigns of 1741 ; he was 
fighting against the appearance of a parody on SemiramiSy 
and repudiating, somewhat uselessly, his authorship of 
Zadig. *' You speak as though I had a share in it," he 
wrote to d'Argental ; " but why I ? Why do they name 
me .'' I do not wish to have anything to do with novels." 
On the other hand, Mme du Chatelet wrote that she 
wished all this " Zadig business " might end. She was 
giving herself up more and more to the delight of the 
Indian Summer of her life. At times the thought crossed 
her mind that she was not doing all she had been 
accustomed to do in Voltaire's best interests. D'Argental 
had said he ought to be in Paris. " He has given you his 
reasons for staying here," she replied. They were that he 
was rather ill, and very necessary to Mme du Chatelet' s 



35 8 An Eighteenth^Ccntury Marquise 

affairs. *' I swear to you I have no part in them, and 
that I would gladly immolate myself for his sake ; " and 
then she makes the rather lame excuse that, as it was 
impossible to hinder the parody of Semiramis being 
played, at least it would never do for them to arrive in 
Paris on the evening of the representation. Having thus 
salved her conscience, she threw herself with renewed 
gusto into all that life had to oifer — opera, comedy, comet, 
and — love. 

By the close of October there was talk of a return to 
Paris. " Mme du Chatelet," wrote Voltaire, " promises 
more than she can perform in speaking of an early 
journey." In November he penned an English letter 
to Falkener, to tell him that he was at Lundville " with 
the same lady," and sent a verse to H6nault to a similar 
effect : 

Je coule ici mes heureux jours 
Dans la plus tranquille des cours, 
Sans intrigue, sans jalousie, 
Aupres d'un roi sans courtisans, 
Pr6s de Boufflers et d'Emilie ; 
Je les vois et je les entends, 
II faut bien que je fasse envie. 

On November lo he said : "The arrangements of 
Mme du Chatelet do not allow us to depart before 
December." It was true that Emilie was prolonging 
the visit to the last possible moment. But she was no 
longer so happy. She thought Mme de Boufflers was 
trying to separate her from Saint-Lambert, and influence 
Stanislas against her. Several quarrels occurred between 
the lovers. She accused Saint-Lambert of being cold, of 
neglecting, even of forgetting her. She asked him to 
come and see her at one o'clock ; he did not come till 
four. They were about to part, and she would perhaps 



Love and Saint^Lambert 359 

never see him again. " I do not know what will happen 
to-morrow ; but I can bear anything, except the unworthy- 
manner in which you treat me." He was cold, and took 
no notice of her. He did not make chances of seeing 
her. She thought it would be better to be alone in Paris 
than near to him while he was so unkind. But before 
they parted they spent a few happy moments together. 
She allowed herself to be dragged away only in time to 
reach Cirey on Christmas Eve. 

As usual there was an adventure at Chalons. Emilie 
refused to go to the Bell Inn of bouillon fame, and to 
this decision Voltaire was willing enough to agree. 
Instead they went to the bishop's house, at which they 
arrived at eight o'clock in the morning, after travelling 
all night, as their custom was. An excellent breakfast 
was served. Then Emilie had a few minutes' business 
to transact with a farmer in the neighbourhood, and the 
horses were ordered for half-past nine. In the meantime 
she suggested a game of cards. The carriage was ready, 
but the game went on ; the postilions grew impatient, 
and the horses were led back to the stable. They were 
ordered out again after dinner. The game was continued. 
It rained. Back went the horses. Mme du Chatelet 
was losing, and demanded her revenge. It was eight at 
night before they left Chalons. No wonder Voltaire 
made remarks about her love of comet ! 

Emilie was unable to justify herself in the sight of the 
" angels," although she did her best. To their repeated 
demands that Voltaire should come to Paris she could 
only reply that if she thought for a moment that his 
presence in the capital was necessary, she would leave 
everything to accompany him thither. Then she 
enumerated the affairs which kept her at Cirey. There 



360 An Eighteenth^Ccntury Marquise 

were forges in the neighbourhood of the chateau, and 
one manager was leaving ; she had to see a new one 
installed. She had to visit every part of the estate, and 
settle disputes among the farmers. These labours could 
not be dismissed before the end of the month. But she 
said nothing of the more important work of writing a 
preface to the translation of Newton — a chef-d" cewvre^ 
Voltaire called it — and love-letters to Saint-Lambert. 

Nor did she say a word of a fear that haunted her, that 
became insistent when it was time to depart for Paris. 
She had to confide in some one. It was natural to turn 
to Voltaire, and she told him that she was expecting to 
become a mother. That which should have been a joy 
to her was only an embarrassment. They talked the 
matter over, and decided that a consultation should be 
held between herself, himself, and Saint-Lambert. It 
was difficult to know what course to take. Appearances 
must be respected ; that was one of the laws of society 
in eighteenth-century France. At first it was hoped that 
the whole thing might be kept from the knowledge of 
the Marquis du Chatelet. Voltaire joked. There are 
some men who must joke if only to save themselves from 
tears. Since the child was to claim no father, he said it 
should be classed among Emilie's miscellaneous works. 
On second thoughts, however, it was found wiser not to 
leave M. du Chatelet out of the affair, but to draw him 
into it as well as they could without disclosing the truth. 
The barefaced plan they arranged was to make him 
believe himself the father of the unborn child. He was 
invited home. Amidst feasts and caresses he thought 
himself beloved, regarded himself as the chosen one, 
and was told news which made him inexpressibly happy. 

That such a plan could ever be conceived and carried 



Love and Saint'Lambert 361 

through as Longchamp described it is astounding enough, 
but that it could deceive a society which prided itself on 
knowing all that underlay appearances, and often knew 
far more than there was to be known, was hardly to 
be expected. The truth was whispered abroad, the 
daring of the scheme thrilled those who heard of it, 
the actors in the little comedy that was a tragedy leapt 
into fashion. It was France and the eighteenth century ! 

Midst laughter and tears the plot went on ; the laughter 
was on the lips, the tears in the hearts of Voltaire and 
Emilie. The latter tried to make the best of what 
appeared to her but a poor business. She wrote to 
Mme de Boufflers from Paris asking her to befriend her 
in her coming trial. She feared for her health, even 
for her life ; she thought it would appear ridiculous to 
give birth to a child at her age, and seventeen years 
had passed since the little son that died had come into 
the world. As for her other son, she was afraid lest 
his interests should be prejudiced, and decided to keep 
the news secret from him awhile. And then she hinted 
that she would wish her child to be born at Luneville, 
in the smaller apartment formerly occupied by the queen, 
since the large one was too noisy, too smoky, and too 
far from Voltaire and Mme de Boufflers. She hoped 
King Stanislas would agree to her plan. 

Saint-Lambert, it would appear, took the news which 
concerned him closely with his usual, or perhaps, with 
assumed, imperturbabihty. Judging from Mme de 
Chatelet's letters, he was not nearly as considerate as 
he should have been. A day passed without a line from 
him ; it was abominable, barbaric. 

Stanislas arrived at Versailles, and she went to see him, 
and wrote angrily to Saint-Lambert from the Trianon, 



362 An Eighteenth^Ccntury Marquise 

because he had spoken of leaving Lorraine to take up 
active service in Flanders, and she thought she might 
never see him again. Although he talked of " treating 
her in this cavalier fashion," he nevertheless chose to 
interfere in her affairs, and rashly suggested what she 
should and should not do, going so far as to be angry 
because she had taken clothes for the summer to 
Versailles, when he thought she ought to be in Lorraine, 
Much as she loved him, it was not likely that she would 
suffer dictation from a Saint-Lambert, when she had 
never permitted it from a Voltaire. 

At length the matter was settled. Saint-Lambert 
agreed to stay, agreed to the sacrifice she asked of him, 
and did the only thing that could give her calm and 
save her from tormenting herself and him. King 
Stanislas, too, had taken her request in the very kindliest 
spirit, and made every possible arrangement for her 
comfort during the approaching visit to Luneville. He 
offered her the little house at Jolivet, where she could 
take the air when the weather was favourable. Her 
mind relieved on these points, she became once more 
the sweet and loving mistress, unable to express all 
the adoration she felt for her lover, extremely impatient 
to rejoin him, and hoping never to leave him for long 
again. 

In May, Voltaire and Emilie were still in the Rue 
Traversi^re, where they had been living since the middle 
of February. Whilst Emilie was writing urgent letters 
to Saint-Lambert, Voltaire was receiving equally urgent 
ones from Frederick the Great. Since the November of 
the previous year the King of Prussia had been pressing 
him to come to Potsdam. He was jealous because 
his philosopher-poet preferred *' la tabagie du roi 



Love and Saint-Lambert 363 

Stanislas " to his own far superior Court. Voltaire 
had at first replied to these importunities by saying 
that he wanted to be within reach of Plombi^res for 
the sake of his health — an obviously weak excuse, as 
he had not visited the watering-place since 1730. As 
time passed he had another reason to give. He con- 
fessed that under the circumstances he desired to stay 
with Emilie. Frederick saw no reason for this decision. 
"You are not a sage-femme^' he replied irritably. 
Voltaire agreed that he had neither paternal feelings nor 
medical knowledge, but that he could not leave a friend 
and a woman who might die in September. In October 
he promised to come. With this Frederick had to be 
content. " You are like a bad Christian, my dear 
Voltaire. You put off your conversion from one day 
to the other. After giving me hopes for the summer, 
you postpone them till the autumn. Apparently Apollo, 
as god of medicine, orders you to preside at Mme du 
Chatelet's bedside. The sacred name of friendship 
imposes silence on me. I must be content with your 
promise." 

Emilie would have been happy enough had not her 
thoughts been embittered by the suspicions and anxieties 
she entertained concerning Saint-Lambert. She thought 
he ought to love her all the better for the new bond 
between them ; she feared he would love her less. She 
was jealous of Mme de Mirepoix, of Mme de Bouthillier, 
and of Mme de Thianges. Instead of remaining with 
his regiment at Nancy, he was always at Luneville. 
Was it Mme de Boufflers who kept him there, she 
wondered. She taxed him with it : "I spend my days 
weeping over your infidelity. As a recompense, you 
make me die of grief, I who ought to be most dear 



364 An Eightecnth^Century Marquise 

to you. You can end all this with a word ; it is that 
you love me. But if you do not love me, never say 
that you do . . ." 

She wrote to him several times a day, her letters 
being full of reproaches, incoherence, tenderness, and 
menace. 

" I wrote twenty-three letters and received only eleven. 
It would be a different proportion if we counted by 
pages," she said. *' I would rather die than love alone ; 
it is too great a punishment." 

She asked for her portrait back, but if he sent it she 
told him that he would be dealing, her a mortal blow. 

No wonder that Saint-Lambert, wearied, nonplussed, 
confused, unable to see what to do for the best, wished 
himself well out of the entanglement. But he had little 
generosity and consideration for her. When she wrote 
tenderly he ignored her letters ; if she failed to do so 
he upbraided her. He accused her of being too much 
interested in the Chevalier de Beauvau or the Comte 
de Croix. Everybody was so inconstant in those days 
that no one could believe in another's constancy. His 
doubts roused her to make a pathetic reply. " How 
could I forget you .? How could I neglect you ^ You 
are the beginning, the end, the aim, and the only object 
of all my actions and all my thoughts. All my feelings 
are unchangeable. Do you think that the impression 
which your suspicions have made upon me, your harsh- 
ness, the thought you had of leaving me, as you wrote 
me, which affected my health, perhaps my life, without 
real foundation or cause ... do you think all these 
things can be effaced ? " 

Meanwhile, besides voluminous letter-writing, both 
were deep in work. Voltaire was writing a tragedy. 



Love and Saint^Lambcrt 365 

Mme du Chatelet was burying herself in mathematics. 
Study alone eased her fears and forebodings. She was 
working on Newton. " Do not reproach me with it," 
she cried to Saint-Lambert. *' I am punished enough 
without that. I have never made a greater sacrifice to 
reason. I must finish it, though I need a constitution of 
iron. ... I cannot really love anything which I do not 
share with you, for I do not love Newton — it is a point 
of honour with me to finish it." She had gone far, 
indeed, since the old days, when her interests were 
Voltaire's interests and his hers. 

All through May she was studying with the help of 
her old friend Clairaut. She rose at nine, sometimes at 
eight. She worked until three, when she took coffee. 
She started work again at four and did not stop till 
ten o'clock, when she had a light supper, while Voltaire 
chatted to her. Their talk continued until midnight, 
when she began work again until five in the morning. 
She gave up all society life, and saw none of her friends. 
At this time Mme du DefFand was numbered amongst 
the^ closest of them. In spite of everything, she was 
strong and well, and only living to see her lover again. 

In June they paid a rush visit to Cirey, which lasted 
only a fortnight. Then they went on to Commercy. 
It was sad, said Voltaire, to leave delightful apartments, 
books, and liberty to go and play at comet at the court 
of kings. There was no help for it. He must follow 
to the last in the train of Emilie, who was as gay as 
ever. Stanislas employed his mornings with his plans for 
building ; in the afternoon there were cards, concerts, 
comedy, and opera. Nanine and La Femme qui a Raison 
were played. In the evening there were surreptitious 
supper-parties as before. 



366 An Eighteenth'Century Marquise 

Work was not neglected. Voltaire wrote his tragedy ; 
Emilie did her mathematics. At times she was distrait 
and troubled, and she sent for her companion, Mile du 
Thil. Voltaire wrote many letters to his friends, treating 
the event to come lightly, as a joke, refusing to see risk 
or danger. He was concerned at this time about Diderot, 
who had been imprisoned at Vincennes for writing Philo- 
sophical Thoughts J and a Letter on the Blind for the Use of 
Those that See. On July 30 he wrote to Abbe Raynal, 
to tell him that Mme du Chatelet had interceded for 
Socrates-Diderot with the governor of the prison, who 
was a relative of hers and brother-in-law to Richelieu. 
The petition was successful, and his prison life was 
considerably ameliorated. 

Mme du Chatelet had nearly done with letter-writing 
altogether. It was one of her last efforts that effected a 
deed of mercy. Only two more of her letters are on 
record after that date, both written in August, both to 
Saint-Lambert, both upbraiding him. He had treated 
her cruelly ; she had been in his presence, but he had 
never once glanced in her direction. She knew she 
should thank him for it. She realised that his action 
had been prompted by discretion, by an attempt to keep 
up appearances. But it was, nevertheless, more than she 
could bear. " 1 am accustomed to read in your charming 
eyes, every moment of my life, that you are thinking of 
me, that you love me," she wrote. " I seek them every- 
where, and assuredly I find nothing that resembles them ; 
there is nothing else for mine to look at. , . . One day 
spent with you is worth an eternity without you," and 
so on. Passion and turbulence were poured wholesale 
upon the head of the calm Saint-Lambert, who could no 
more appreciate the torrent than he could fly. He did 



Love and Saint^Lambert 367 

not mean to be cruel — he only prayed that the flood 
might be stemmed ; he asked himself what had he done 
to arouse in any woman so fierce and so inconvenient a 
turmoil. 

He was accustomed to the sweet and delicate loves 
of those eighteenth-century women who could play with 
their emotions, and thought it vulgar to bare them in 
all their primitive savagery. He was a man of taste. 
" Do not judge me by what I have been — I will not show 
you such excessive love," she added, perhaps a little 
contritely ; " if you do not love me less, if my wrongs 
have not weakened this charming love, without which I 
cannot live, I am sure that there is none in the world 
so happy as I." 

What, then, were her fears, her trembling forebodings 
of the future, her premonitions of death ? They had 
nothing to do with shame, with regret for her abandon- 
ment, or dread lest the child that was coming should be 
unloved and have no place in the world. It was none of 
these things that cut her to the heart and made all effort 
appear futile, but the knowledge that none of it was 
worth while — that he did not share with her, could never 
share, that wonder of loving which sweeps every con- 
sideration but itself into nothingness. Who could under- 
stand that better than she .'' And now her sacrifice — 
mistaken in the eyes of some, unpardonable in the eyes 
of others, unwise in the sight of most — was at an end. 
She felt, she knew it was at an end. She had written her 
last letter ; it was not as pleasant as the one that pre- 
ceded it. " Not that I love you less," was her last 
sigh, " but that I have less strength to tell you so. I 
conclude because I can write no more." 

It was left to Voltaire to tell the rest. At the 



368 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise 

beginning of September a daughter was born to Mme 
du Chatelet, baptised in the parish church, and then 
put out to nurse. Voltaire hastened to send the news 
to all his friends — to d'Argental, to the Abbe Voisenon, 
to d'Argenson. One feature of these letters is that as 
he repeats his news he gives more and more careful 
details, and the story grows in the making. He was so 
proud of his inventiveness that in the end it mastered 
him. It appeared that when the little girl was born its 
mother was at her writing-desk, scribbling some New- 
tonian theories. The child was laid temporarily on a 
quarto volume of geometry. The mother was taken 
straight to bed. After all, she has only given birth to 
an infant incapable of uttering a word, whilst he in pro- 
ducing a tragedy had to make live a Cicero, a Caesar. 
So he wrote on in hopeful, exaggerated strain ; so he 
repented of writing only a few days later. 

Within the week Mme du Chatelet was dead. Seeing 
her in extremities, a servant was sent to warn Mme 
de Boufflers. The latter, the marquis, Voltaire, all, 
rushed from table to her room. At the last Voltaire 
and Saint-Lambert remained alone by her bedside. Vol- 
taire, overcome by grief and stupefied, stumbled out into 
the passage when all was over, and with difficulty reached 
the castle door without knowing what he had done. 
Outside was a stairway, down which he fell, knocking 
his head upon the flags at the bottom. Saint-Lambert 
had followed him, and hastened to help a lackey, who 
was already on the spot, to pick him up. His eyes 
swimming in tears, Voltaire, recognising in Saint-Lambert 
the original cause of his grief, said, " My friend, my 
death, too, lies at your door." And then, gathering 
reproach and despair in his tone, he cursed him for what 



Love and Saint-Lambert 369 

he had done. The bitter words fell upon a silence which 
gave force to the reproach. And so, for a time, they 
parted. 

" Mme du Chatelet," wrote Voltaire in his Memoirs, 
" died in the palace of Stanislas after two days' illness ; 
and we were so affected that not one of us ever remem- 
bered to send for priest, Jesuit, or any of the seven 
sacraments. It was we, and not Mme du Chdtelet, who 
felt the horrors of death. The good King Stanislas came 
to my chamber, and mingled his tears with mine : few of 
his brethren would have done so much on a like occasion. 
He wished me to stay at Luneville ; but I could no longer 
support the place, and returned to Paris." 

He wrote the sad news to the same friends with whom 
he had shared his rejoicing but a few days earlier — to 
d'Argental, to Voisenon, to d'Argenson, and to Mme 
du Deffand. He was utterly broken. " Alas, madame," 
he wrote sadly to the last-named, " we made jokes about 
this event, and in this unfortunate tone I wrote of it to 
her friends. If anything could increase the horrible con- 
dition in which I am, it would be the having taken with 
gaiety an adventure of which the conclusion will render 
the remainder of my life miserable. I did not write to 
you about the confinement, and I announce her death. 
It is to the sensibility of your heart that I have recourse 
in my despair. They are taking me to Cirey with 
M. du Chatelet. From there I shall return to Paris 
without knowing what will become of me, and hoping 
soon to rejoin her." 

He took no interest at all in the infant to which 
Mme du Chatelet had given birth, and which soon 
followed its mother to the grave. To d'Argental he 
said : " I have not lost merely a mistress, I have lost 

22 



37° An Eighteenth-'Century Marquise 

the half of myself — a soul for which mine was made, 
a friend of twenty years' standing whom I saw born. 
The most tender father does not love his only daughter 
more truly." 

The few days he spent at Cirey were little less than 
torture. M, du Chatelet found him clearing out his 
furniture. Then a move was made to Paris, and he 
took up his abode in the h6tel, Rue de Traversi^re, 
where they had lived together. " She was a great man 
whose only fault was in being a woman," he wrote to 
Frederick the Great, who, now that he was rid of his 
rival, wished to entrap his poet. " A woman who trans- 
lated and explained Newton, and who made a translation 
of Virgil, without letting it appear in conversation that she 
had done these wonders ; a woman who never spoke evil 
of any one, and who never told a lie ; a friend attentive 
and courageous in friendship, — in one word, a very great 
man whom ordinary women only knew by her diamonds 
and cavagnole, — that is the one whom you cannot hinder 
me from mourning all my life." 

''The most severe vexation for the moment was the 
death of the Marquise du Chatelet," wrote Marmontel, 
describing Voltaire's state of mind. "To be sincere, 
I recognised on this occasion, as I often had done, the 
nobility of his soul. When I went to express to him 
the part I took in his affliction, ' Come,' said he, on 
seeing me ; * come and share my sorrow. I have lost 
my illustrious friend. I am in despair ; I am incon- 
solable.' I, to whom he had often said that she was 
like a fury that haunted his steps, and who knew that 
in their disputes they had more than once been at 
daggers-drawn, let him weep, and seemed to sympathise 
with him. Solely to make him perceive some motive 



Love and Saint^Lambert 371 

of consolation in the very cause of her death, 1 
asked him what she died of. * Of what ! Don't you 
know? Ah, my dear friend, he has killed her. He 
was the father of her child.' It was Saint-Lambert, 
his rival, of whom he spoke ; and thus he continued to 
exhaust language in praise of that incomparable woman, 
redoubling his tears and sobs." At that moment Chau- 
velin walked in, told a ridiculous story, and made Voltaire 
burst out laughing. Marmontel laughed too, to see the 
great man pass with the facility of a child from one 
extreme of emotion to another. 

Her obsequies were worthy of Mme du Chdtelet's 
rank. King Stanislas sent his principal officials, and all 
the distinguished people of Lun^ville were present. 

The record of her death, in which there is a curious 
error of age, is given in the civil registers in the following 
terms : 

MORTE 

Gabrielle-Emilie de Breteuil, etc. 

Tr^s haute et tr^s puissante Dame, Madame 
Gabrielle Emihe de Breteuil, Spouse de tr^s haut 
et tr^s puissant seigneur messire florens Claude, 
marquis du Ch^telet Lomont, baron de Cyrey, et 
autres lieux, lieutenant general des armees du Roy, 
Commandeur de L'Ordre Royal et militaire de Saint- 
Louis, gouverneur de Semur et Grand Bailly du 
pays D'Aunois et de Sarlouis ; Grand Marechal 
de Logis de sa Majesty le Roy de pologne. Due de 
Lorraine et de Bar, etc., ag^e de cinquante-deux 
ans aux environs, morte le dix a une heure du 
matin, enterr6 le onze dans le cavau {sic) de 
Messieurs les chanoines. 



37 2 An Eighteenth^Century Marquise 

Two sad offices remained to be performed. One 
concerned a ring Emilie had been wearing. Mme de 
Boufflers asked Longchamp for it. In the presence of 
Saint-Lambert he saw her remove the guardsman's 
portrait from the bezel. Then she returned the ring to 
Longchamp and asked him to give it to M. du Chatelet. 
A day or two later Voltaire inquired about the ring, 
which had once contained his portrait. Longchamp 
told him what he had seen. " Ciel ! " cried Voltaire, 
" women are all the same. I supplanted Richelieu, 
Saint-Lambert ousted me" — and then he added Bran- 
tome's old remark about the mistresses of Fran9ois I, 
**ainsi qu'un clou chasse I'autre." 

Before her death Mme du Chatelet had put all her 
papers in order, made them up into different parcels, and 
instructed Longchamp to deliver them as addressed. 
There was one for M. du Chatelet, consisting of a casket 
and a packet of papers. A note accompanied them, 
asking her husband to burn them all without looking at 
them. 

When Longchamp delivered these things to the 
marquis, his brother was with him. At first M. du 
Chatelet wished to look at the papers, but his brother 
dissuaded him, saying he ought to respect his late wife's 
wishes. Among the papers were many of Voltaire's 
writings, which were thrown into the grate and burnt. 
Longchamp managed to save the Trait e de Metaphysique 
from the flames. 

As for Voltaire's letters to his mistress, their exact fate 
has never been determined. They were referred to by 
Voisenon. 

*' Mme la Marquise du Chatelet had eight volumes, 
in 4°, manuscripts and well bound, of letters which he 



Love and Saint-'Lambert 373 

wrote her. One could not imagine that in love-letters, 
one could concern oneself with any other divinity than 
the one which fills the heart, and that one could make 
more epigrams against religion than madrigals for one's 
mistress. But that was what happened to Voltaire. 

" Mme du Chatelet hid nothing from me. I often 
remained tete a tete with her until five o'clock in the 
morning, and there was never anything but the truest 
friendship between us, which gave a charm to our vigils. 
She told me sometimes that she was quite detached from 
Voltaire. I made no answer. I drew out one of the 
eight volumes, and I read some letters. I noticed her 
eyes grew moist with unshed tears. I closed the book 
promptly and said, ' You are not cured yet.' The last 
year of her life, I attempted the same proof She 
criticised them. I was convinced that she was cured. 
She confided to me that Saint-Lambert had been her 
doctor. She left for Lorraine, where she died. Voltaire, 
anxious because he could not find the letters, believed 
they had been deposited with me, and wrote to me about 
them. I never had them. I was assured they were 
burnt." 

Mme du Chatelet's death was the signal for an outburst 
of epigrams and bon mots. CoUe wrote in his Journal, 
" It is to be hoped that this is the last of her airs. 
To die in childbed at her age is to wish to be singular, 
and to have pretensions to do nothing like other people." 

A typical example of the kind of verse which was 
thought clever is the epitaph written by Frederick the 
Great : 

Ici-git qui perdit la vie 
Dans le double accouchement 
D'un traite de philosophie 
Et d'un malheureux enfant. 



374 An Eightcenth-'Ccntufy Marquise 

On ne salt pr6cisement 
Lequel des deux nous I'a ravie. 
Sur ce funeste evenement, 
Quelle opinion doit-on suivre ? 
Saint-Lambert s'en prendre au livre, 
Voltaire dit que c'est I'enfant. 

A new and distinct epoch opened in the life of Voltaire 
after the death of Mme du Chatelet. He was then fifty- 
five, and though no longer a young man, had still thirty 
years to live. He was to succeed, he was to be feted 
far and wide, he was to be " stifled with roses " ; but he 
was never again, perhaps, to have hours more poignant 
than those he had spent with the woman he had sincerely 
loved, nor to write verses that awoke more echoes in his 
memory than his last tribute to her, which, as far as her 
place in his world was concerned, should have been 
written many months before : 

L'Univers a perdu la sublime Emilie ; 

EUe aima les plaisirs, les arts, la verite ; 

Les dieux, en lui donnant leur S.me et leur genie, 

N'avaient garde pour eux que I'immortalite. 



INDEX 



Adh^mar, Vicomte d', 350, 351 

Agnesi, Maria, 69, 81 

Aigueberre, Dumas d', 42 

Aiguillon, Duchesse d', 56, 73, 115, 
125, 128, 210 

Aisse, Mile, 46 

Alberoni, 269 

Alembert, J. L. d', 71, 113, 118, 343 

Algarotti, Francesco, 58, 118, 136, 
137, 138, 141, 142, 143. 144, 146, 
147, 178, 210, 216, 223; portrait, 
139; visits Cirey, 141, 144 

Alliot, M., 319 

Alliot, Mme, 319 

Amelot, 230, 231, 234 

Anet, 128, 185, 245, 276, 277, 278, 
279, 280, 282. 283, 287, 288 

Anville, Marechale d', 107 

Aremberg, Due d', 208 

Argenson, Comte d', 29, 30, 107, 
232, 235, 270, 290, 328, 368, 369 

Argental, Comte d', 29, 54, 112, 136, 
137. 138, 146, 147. 148, 149. 150. 
151, 152, 153, 155, 156, 164, 166, 
201, 203, 205, 206, 215, 224, 225, 
229, 232, 233, 234, 235, 286, 326, 
327, 334, 336, 350, 357, 368, 369 

Argental, Comtesse d', 147, 327 

Artagnan, Mme d', 256, 259 

Astruc, 113, 114. 116, 117 

Autreau, 116 



Balzac, H., 48 

Bassompierre, Mme de, 308, 316 
Baviere, Elisabeth-Charlotte de. 
See Orleans. 



Beauffremont, Prince, 318 
Beauvau, Prince de, 125, 294, 305, 

3H. 315- 319. 342,343,344 
Beauvau, Princesse de, 125, 344 
Bebe, 321 

Bellinzani, Anne, 13, 14 
Bercheny, Comte de, 347 
Bernieres, President de, 197, 200, 

202 
Bernieres, Pr^sidente de, 38, 204, 

205 
Bernis, Abbe de, 115, 346 
BernouUi, Jean, fils, 58, 71, 74, 82, 

193, 211 
Bethune, Comte de, 304 
Blot, Mme de, 107 
Boerhaave, 154 
Boindin, 95, 96, 99 
Boisgelin, Mme de, 318, 319 
Boisrobert, 91 
Bolingbroke, 115 
Bossut, 81, 82 
BoufHers, Am6lie de, 313 
Boufflers, Chevalier de, 125, 291, 

309, 310, 317, 318 
Boufflers, Comtesse de, 107, 125, 

313. 316 
Boufflers, Dowager Marquise de, 

313. 3H 
Boufflers, Duchesse de. See Luxem- 
bourg, Duchesse de 
Boufflers, Marquis de, 297, 305, 314 
Boufflers, Marquise de (nee Marie- 
Fran9oise Catherine de Beauvau- 
Craon), 125, 291, 297, 305, 306, 
307, 308, 309. 310. 313. 314. 315. 
316, 317, 319. 320, 321, 322, 323, 



375 



376 



Index 



324, 327, 330, 336, 339. 343, 345. 
346, 349, 350. 351. 352, 353, 356, 

358, 361, 363, 372; birth, 297; 

appearance, 310; character, 310; 

portrait, 311 ; her epitaph, 309 
Bouhier, President, 144, 146, 214 

note 
Bourbon, Duchesse de, 246 
Bourgogne, Due de. See Louis 
Bourgogne, Duchesse de. See 

Marie-Adelaide de Savoie 
Bouthillier, Mme de, 352, 363 
Boze^ de, 113, 114 
Brancas, Due de, 267 
Brancas, Duchesse de, 129, 130 
Brassac, Comte de, 304 
Brassac, Comtesse de, 262 
Breteuil, Baronne de, 20 
Breteuil, Charles Auguste de, 14 
Breteuil, Ehsabeth-Theodore de 

(afterwards Vicaire de Sens), 14, 

182, 186 
Breteuil, Louis le Tonnelier de, 

12, 19 
Breteuil, Louis-Nicolas le Tonnelier, 

Baron de, 12, 13, 16, 17, 18, 19! 

22, 42, 43. 44. 99; birth, 13; 

love affairs, 13 ; marriage, 14 ; 

reader to the king, 14; intro- 
ducer of ambassadors, 15; his 

titles, 19, 20 
Breteuil, Rene-Alexandre de, 14 
Buffon, Z'], 91 



Cambis, Mme de, 308, 316 

Camus, 74 

Caraman, Mme de, 316 

Carlyle, T., 220 

Catharina Opalinska, 298, 303, 305, 

319 
Caumartin, 17, 18, 106 
Caumartin, Marie Anne le Fevre 

de, 14 
Cellemare, 269 
Chabot, Mme de, 327 



Chamfort, 308 

Chamillard, 44 

Champbonin, M. de, 163, 164, 186 

Champbonin, Mme de (" Gros 
Chat"), 64, 65, 66, 67, 151, 173, 
180, 192, 205, 210, 325 

Charles VI, Emperor of Austria, 
224 

Charles VII, Emperor of Austria, 
237 

Charles XII, King of Sweden, 297, 
298 

Charolais, Mile de, 130 

Chartres, Due de, 236 

Chateaubriand, 48 

Chateauroux, Duchesse de, 230, 
234 

Chatelet, Emilie-Gabrielle, Marquise 
du; birth, 12, 14; her family, 12, 
13. 15 ; appearance in childhood, 
20; upbringing, 21, 22, 23; mar- 
riage, 25 ; character drawn by 
Abbd Raynal, 28; love for Mar- 
quis de Guebriant, 28, 29 • letters 
to Richeheu, 34-36, 60-63 J meet- 
ing with Voltaire, 42 ; verses to, 
42 ; Epttre sur la Calomnie, 42, 
43. 45 ; pays a visit to Voltaire, 
45; friendship with Duchesse 
de Saint-Pierre, 46, 47 ; character 
compared with that of Voltaire, 
48-9 ; her love of the world, 50, 
51; as Voltaire's Urania, 51; at 
Richelieu's wedding. 53; anxiety 
on Voltaire's account, 54, 55, 56; 
plans that Voltaire should go to 
Cirey, 56; learns English, 58; 
studies Leibnitz, 58; translates 
Newton, 59 ; appeals to Richelieu 
about Voltaire, 60-3 ; at Cirey, 
64, 65-8 ; taste for mathematics^ 
69 ; her learning, 70-1 ; her scien- 
tific friends, 71 ; on portrait of' 
Maupertuis, ^^ ; lessons from 
Clairaut, 78, 79 ; her masters, 82 ; 
|etter£j^o Maugertiiig,_82-^ and 



Index 



377 



the salons, 105, 106 ; and Mme 
de Tencin, no, iii; and Mme 
du Deffand, 119-20; Mme du 
Deffand's portrait of, 123-4; ar- 
ranges a supper party, 126-7 ! 
and the actresses, 1 28 ; her ac- 
tivity, 128-g; and Mme de Brancas, 
129-30; and Linant, 133-6; style 
of her letters, 137 ; letters to 
Algarotti, 138, 141, 144; to d'Ar- 
gental, 150, 151, 152, 153; her 
misery at Voltaire's absence, 155 ; 
as hostess, 159; writes her Essay 
on Fire 161 ; essay compared 
with Voltaire's, 16 1 ; letter from 
Frederick on, 162-3 ; description 
of by Mme de Graffigny, 169-70 ; 
her portrait by Marianne Loir, 
171 ; her apartments, 175-6; her 
relations with Voltaire, 179-80; 
her versatility, 181; her sym- 
pathy, 182 ; her pleasure in thea- 
tricals, 182, 185 ; her work, 186 ; 
translates the Fable of the Bees, 
187; accuses Mme de Graffigny 
of copying La Pucelle, 190-2 ; her 
apology, 192-3 ; and Desmarets, 
195 ; and Desfontaines, 199 ; 
reply to La Voltairomanie, 199- 
201 ; her indignation against 
Thieriot, 201-2 ; first journey to 
Brussels, 206 ; leads a " wander- 
ing life,'' 207 ; and Koenig, 208-9 ; 
the law-suit, 209 ; at marriage 
of Louis XV's daughter, 210; 
dispute with Koenig, 212-14 > with 
Mairan, 215 ; quarrels with Mau- 
pertuis, 216 ; correspondence with 
Frederick the Great, 218; her 
desire to visit Frederick, 218-19 ; 
disappointment when she fails, 
219; at Fontainebleau, 224, 238- 
41, 283 ; her anxiety at Voltaire's 
absence, 224 ; at the Hotel Lam- 
bert, 226-7 ; at Lille, 226 ; at 
Brussels, 228; marriage of her 



daughter, 229 ; and Mme de 
Tencin, 231-3 ; and President 
Renault, 235, 236 ; her son ill 
with small-pox, 237 ; her portrait, 
239 ; engages Longchamp, 241 ; 
her right to a tabouret, 243 ; at 
Anet, 277-83 ; her secret, 277 ; 
acts in B our souffle^ 281 ; her love 
of gambhng, 285 ; at Sceaux, 286- 
90 ; as Isse, 288, 327 ; and Mme 
de Boufflers, 313 ; at Luneville, 
321, 326; and Menou, 322, 323; 
in carriage accident, 324 ; and 
Saint-Lambert, 328, 330, 333 ; her 
love for Saint-Lambert, 335, 336 ; 
her letters to Saint-Lambert, 337, 
338 ; nurses him, 337 ; their part- 
ing, 338; at Nancy, 339; her 
indignation, 342 ; her character, 
344 ; her doubts, 345 ; obtains a 
post for her husband, 346, 347 ; 
at Commercy, 348-50 ; falls into 
a ditch, 349; at Plombieres, 
350-3 ; at Luneville, 353 ; her 
infidelity to Voltaire, 354; her 
explanation, 355 ; quarrels with 
Saint-Lambert, 358 ; at Chalons, 
359 ; her love of comet, 359 ; 
writes a preface to Newton, 360 ; 
her jealousy, 363 ; at Cirey, 365 ; 
at Commercy, 365 ; intercedes for 
Diderot, 366 ; last letter to Saint- 
Lambert, 366-7 ; birth of her 
daughter, 368; her death, 368, 
371 ; Voltaire's letters to, 372-3 ; 
her epitaph, by Frederick the 
Great, 373 ; Voltaire's tribute to, 

374 

Chatelet, Erard du, 64 

Chatelet, Florent-Claude, Marquis 
du, 25, 59, 60, 62, 63, 79, 134, 
144, 151, 152, 154, 156, 161, 170, 
192, 205, 304, 343, 346, 347, 360, 

369. 370, 371, 372 
Chatelet, Florent-Louis-Marie du, 
25, 133. 134. 211,237,361 



378 



Index 



Chatelet, Gabrielle-Pauline du, 25, 

64, 182, 185, 229 
Chatelet, Victor-Esprit du, 25 
Chaulieu, Abb6, 106, 255, 276 
Chauvelin, 144 note, 154, 371 
Chesterfield, 115 
Chimai, Mme de, 316 
Choin, Mile de, 258 
Choiseul-Beaupre, Comtessede, 125 
Choiseul-Stainville, Comte de, 303, 

304 
Choiseul-Stainville, Comtesse de, 

305 

Christina, Queen of Sweden, 133 

Cideville, 42, 47, 48, 50, 52, 54, 55, 
133, 134, 212, 237 

Cirey, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60, 61, 62, 63, 
64, 65, 66, 67, 68, 78, 82, 105, 128, 
131, 132, 133-8, 141-6, 149, 151, 
154-6, 158-60, 164-9, 173. 178, 
182, 185, 186, 188, 193, 195, 201, 
204, 206, 207, 211, 226, 234, 235, 
236, 321-4, 339, 340, 342, 343, 
345. 347, 365. 370; account of, 
by Chevalier de Villefort, 144-6 ; 
by Mme Denis, 164-5 ! of Hfe at, 
by Mme de Graffigny, 167-96 ; 
theatricals at, 185 ; described by 
Henault, 235 

Clairaut, Alexis Claude, 59, 71, 74, 
77 , 78, 79- 80, 81, 82, 112, 138, 

143, 365 
Clermont, Marquis de, 258 
C0II6, 72, 89, 308, 309 note, 373 
Commercy, 299, 325, 334, 347, 348, 

349. 350. 353. 354 
Condamine, 143 
Conde, Mile de, 246 
Cond6, Prince de, 246 
Condorcet, 71, 319 
Conti, Prince de, 107, 313, 320 
Conti, Princesse de, 73, 258 
Corneille, 85 

Craon, Prince de, 296, 299, 303, 320 
Craon, Princesse de, 293, 294, 295, 

296, 297, 299, 303, 305, 306, 308 



Crebillon, 95, loi, 102 
Crequy, Mme de, 18, 19 
Croissy, Mme de, 256 
Croix, M. de la, 285 
Custine, Marquis de, 304 



Dacier, M., 95 

Dacier, Mme, 22, 92, 95 ; dispute 
with Lamotte, 92 ; portrait, 93 

Danchet, 95, 116 

Dangeau, 21 

Deffand, Mme du, 56, 119, 120, 
123, 124, 125, 127, 227, 228, 
245, 255, 271, 272, 277, 280, 282, 

306, 314, 316, 334, 365. 369 ; her 
pen portrait of Mme du Chate- 
let, 120, 123-4; portrait, 121; 
her salon, 125 ; and President 
H6nault, 271 ; and Mme de Staal, 
272 ; letters from Mme de Staal, 
277-83 

Demoulin, 47 

Denis, M., 164, 165 

Denis, Mme {nee Mignot, Louise), 
163, 164, 226, 353; visits Cirey, 
164-5 

Desfontaines, Abbe, loi, 143, 144, 
191, 196, 197, 198, 199, 200, 201, 
204, 205, 206, 228 ; attacks 
Voltaire, 198 ; writes La Voltair- 
omanie, 198 ; retracts his libel, 
206 

Desmarets, 167, 169, 178, 190, 195 

Desmarets de Saint-Sorlin, 91 

Destouches, 288 

Devaux ("Panpan"), 74, 167, 169, 
176, 187, 188, 189, 190, 191, 194, 

307, 308, 316, 317; Mme de 
Graffigny's letters to, 167-96 

Diderot, 71, loi, 118, 216, 366 

Dreuillet, Mme, 271, 275, 276 

Dubois, 177 

Dubois, Cardinal, 90 

Dubos, Abb6, 91 

Duclos, 89, 91, 112, 113, 114, 



Index 



379 



Dumesnil, Mile, 103 
Dumolard, 102, 224 
Dupin, 226 
Duplessis, 281, 286 
Durival, Mme de, 316 



Enghien, Mile d', 246 

Epitre en vers sur la Calomnie, 

42, 43, 45. 49. 50 
Estaing, Mme d', 272 
Estrees, Duchesse d', 259, 276, 281 

note 
Estr6es, Due d', 276 
Euler, 162, 216 



Falkener, 226, 358 

Fenelon, 92 

Ferriol, Mme de, 112, 147 

Fert6, Duchesse de la, 256, 263, 

264 
Ferte-Imbault, Mme de, 320 
Flamarens, Mme de, 106, 125 
Flavacourt, Mme de, 238 
Fleury, Cardinal de, 74, 228 
Fleury, Marquise de, 107 
Fontainebleau, 224, 233, 238, 243, 

245, 283, 285 
Fontenelle, 21, 85, 87, 91, 96, loi, 

106, 107, 108, 109, no, 113, 116, 

117, 128, 142, 253, 257, 259, 267, 

275. 304 
Forcalquier, 46 
Formont, 54 
Franchini, Abbe, 142 
Francois I., 303 
Fran9ois I., Emperor of Austria, 

293. 298, 303 

Frederick Augustus, Elector of 
Saxony, 298 

Frederick the Great, li, 82, 112, 

I20, 123, 149, 150, 151, 154, 156, 

157. 158- 159. 160, 162, 163, 175, 

205, 207, 208, 211, 212, 216, 217, 



218, 219, 223, 224, 225, 227, 228, 
229, 230, 233, 355, 363, 373 
Fr6ron, 95, loi 



Ga^on, 92 

Galaizifere, Chancellor de la, 304, 

308 
Gaussin, Mile, 128 
Gaya, 277, 278 

Genest, 253, 254, 255, 258, 262, 276 
Genonville, de, 37 
Geoffrin, Mme de, 109, no, n7, 

118, 320 
Germain, Sophie, 69 
Goethe, 48 

Goncourt, de, 26, 27, 30, 260 
Gontaut, Mme de, 107 
Gouvernet, Marquis de, 37 
Gradot, Caf6, 84, 87, 88, 89, 91, 

92. 95 

Graffigny, Mme de, 74, 161, 166, 
167, 168, 169, 170, 173, 174, 176, 
177, 178, 179, 181, 182, 185, 186, 
187, 188, 189, 190, 191, 192, 193, 
194, 195, 126, 307, 320; her 
account of life at Cirey, 167-96 ; 
portrait, 183 

Graffigny, M. de, 167, 181 

Gresset, 95 

Grimm, 102, 329, 330 

Guasco, Abb6 de, 320 

Guebriant, Marquis de, 28, 29 

Guibert, Comte de, 343 

Guise, Mile de. See Richelieu, 
Mme de 

Guise, Prince de, 41 

Guisnee, 83 



Haussonville, Comte d*, 304 
Hautefort, Chevalier, 130 
Helvetius, 116, 117, 213, 320 
H6nault, President, 47, 107, 108, 
125, 227, 228, 234, 235, 236, 256, 
270, 271, 272, 275, 321, 325 



38o 



Index 



Henri II., 292 

Houdetot, Mme d', 330, 335 
Hunolstein, Comte d', 304 
Hypatia, 69 



Institutions de Physique, 58, 70, 
211, 212, 213, 215, 216 



Jacquier, Franfois, 235 
Jaucourt, Mme de, 289 
Jordan, 223, 225 
Jore, 53, 54, 55 



Keyserlingk, Baron de, 158, 159, 

160, 223 
Koenig, Samuel, 57, 71, 82, 208, 

209, 211, 212, 213, 214, 215, 216 



La Bruyere, 16, 17 

La Faye, 89, 95, 96 

La Fontaine, 91 

Lafresnay, 113 

La Harpe, 85, 148 

La Mare, Abbe de, 102, 165, 166 

Lambert, 102 

Lambert, Hotel, 226, 227 

Lambert, Mme de, 91, 108, 109, 

113,271,275 
Lamotte, Houdart de, 89, 90, 91, 92, 

95. 96. 99. 108, 109, 113, 128, 257, 

258, 276, 287 ; dispute with Mme 

Dacier, 92 ; portrait, 97 
Lassay, Marquis de, 258 
Lassay, Marquise de, 258 
Lauraguais, Due de, 129 
Laurent, Caf6, 87, 88, 89, 95, 96 
Lauzun, 318 
Law, John, 115 

Lecouvreur, Adrienne, 38, 147, 148 
Leibnitz, 58, 82, 212, 213 
Lekain, 103 
Le Maure, Mile, 128 



Le Monnier, 74 

Lenoncourt, Mme de, 319 

Lespinasse, Mile de, 118, 343 

Levau, 226 

Ligne, Prince de, 318 

Ligniville, Mile de, 320 

Linanges, Mme de, 305 

Linant, 133, 134, 135, 136, 137, 163 

Linant, Mile de, 136 

Liselotte, See Orl6ans, Elisabeth- 
Charlotte d' 

Livri, Mile de, 37 

Lixin, Prince de, 56, 299 

Locke, 141, 142 

Longchamp, 79, 80, 102, 103, 104, 
126, 127, 241, 242, 243, 244, 283, 
284, 285, 286, 287, 288, 313, 324, 

325. 353. 354- 355. 372 
Lorraine, Elisabeth-Charlotte de 

(Mademoiselle), 151, 292, 293, 

294, 295, 296, 299 
Lorraine, Leopold de, 132, 292, 293, 

294, 295, 296, 298, 300, 303, 306 
Louis XIII, 64 

Louis XIV, 85, 86, 246, 256, 268 
Louis XV, 74, 237, 244, 268, 285, 

298, 300, 303, 313 
Louis, Due de Bourgogne, 15, 253 
Louis, son of Louis XIV (" Mon- 

seigneur"), 258 
Louis, son of Louis XV, 235 
Lourdet, 44 
LuUi, 128 
Lun6ville, 128, 132, 167, 1 68, 261, 

291, 292, 295, 296, 297, 299, 300, 

303. 305, 307, 313. 314. 315. 317. 
318, 319, 321, 322, 323, 325, 327, 

328, 330. 333, 335, 339. 34i. 345. 

346, 348, 350, 353, 369, 371 
Lutzelbourg, Comtesse de, 318, 323 
Luxembourg, Duchesse de, 107, 125, 

126, 129, 238, 313, 344 
Luynes, Due de, 238, 247, 248, 258, 

289, 290, 323, 347 
Luynes, Duchesse de, 238, 241, 271, 

272 



Index 



381 



Mailly, Marquise de, 126, 209, 227, 

228 
Maine, Due du, 246, 247, 251, 252, 
253, 257, 258, 268, 270, 272, 276 

Maine, Duchesse du, 106, 108, 109, 
129, 185, 244, 245, 247, 248, 251, 
252, 253, 254, 255, 256, 257, 258, 
259, 260, 261, 262, 263, 264, 265, 
266, 267, 268, 269, 271, 272, 275, 
276, 277 note, 278, 285, 286, 287, 
288, 289, 290 ; marriage, 247 ; 
portrait, 249 ; the Order of the 
Bee, 259-62 ; her love of amuse- 
ment, 265 ; plots, 269 ; im- 
prisoned, 270 

Maintenon, Mme de, 15, 246, 247, 
268 

Mairan, 109, 113, 114, 116, 117, 
118, 215 

Malafer, 99 

Malezieu, 253, 254, 255, 256, 258, 
262, 264, 269, 276 

Marie-Adelaide de Savoie, 72, 256 

Marie- Antoinette, 293, 326 

Marie-Josephe de Saxe, 129, 326 

Marie-Leczinska, 1 11, 238, 241, 
285, 298, 305, 325, 339, 350 

Marie- Th6rese d'Espagne 
(Dauphine), 129, 235, 237 

Marie-Th6r6se, Empress of Austria, 
293, 299 

Marivaux, 91, loi, 113, 114, 115, 
116, 117, 173 

Marmontel, no, 116, 148, 330, 370, 

371 

Mary Stuart, 64 

Maupertuis, Pierre Louis Moreau 
de, 42, 54, 57, 58, 71, 72, 73. 74, 
T], 78, 81, 82, 83, 84, 89, 90, 91, 
95. 133, 137, 138, 143- 157. 162, 
185, 193, 195, 208, 210, 214, 216, 
217, 219, 223; his portrait, 75; 
his marriage, 216 

Maurepas, 29, 74, 231, 233 

Mazarin, 276 

Melon, 90 



Menou, 321, 322, 323 

Mesdames (daughters of Louis XV), 

321 
Mesmes, President de, 256, 271, 

276 
Mignot, Louise. See Denis 
Mignot, M., 163 
Mirabaud, 113, 114 
Mirabeau, 48 
Mirepoix, Bishop of, 230 
Mirepoix, Duchesse de, 125, 305, 

314, 315,363 
Moncrif, 54, 205, 288 
Mongault, 109 
Montauban, Mme de, 238 
Montenegro-Caraffa, Due de, 229 
Montespan, Mme de, 246, 268 
Montesquieu, 71, 73, 91, 115, 116, 

117, 130, 314, 315, 320 
Montreval, Mme de la Baume, 305 
Mont-Val6rien, 'j'] 
Mora, 343 
Morellet, 118 

Morliere, Rochette de la, loi, 102 
Mouhy, Chevalier de, 102, 198 
Moussinot, 135, 157, 166, 206 



Neuville, Comtesse de la, 65, 66, 

67, 135 
Nevers, Due de, 256, 259 
Nevers, Duchesse de, 259 
Newton, 58, 59, 69, 73, 79, 141, 

142, 157, 213, 235, 279, 365, 370 
Noyer, Mme Olympe de (" Pim- 

pette "), 37. 38 



O, Mile Felicite d', 129 
Olivet, Abb6 d', 54, 193, 194 
Orleans, Elisabeth-Charlotte d', 151, 

246, 247, 270, 292, 293, 294, 295, 

296 
Orleans, Gaston d', 64 
Orleans, Philippe d' (the Regent), 

36, 107, 108, 268, 269, 270, 292 



382 Index 



Ossolinska, Duchesse, 306 
Ossolinski, Due, 304 
Outhier, 74 

Parabere, Mme de, 36 
Paris, 281 
P6cour, 96 

Pellegrin, Abbe, icx), loi 
Perigny, Mile de, 13 
Perrault, Charles, 91 
Piron, lor, 102, 116, 228 
Poitiers, Diane de, 276 
Poix, Prince de, 315 
Poix, Princesse de, 315 
Polignac, Abbe de, 256, 257, 269, 271 
Polignac, Marquise de, 107, 256 
Pompadour, Mme de, 244, 325 
Pons, Abb6 de, 90, 91, 92 
Pontchartrain, M., 17 
Pontchartrain, Mme, 17, 18, 73 
Pont de Veyle, 112, 125 
Popliniere, M. de la, 116, 117 
Poplinidre, Mme de la, 127 
Porquet, Abbe de, 317, 318 
Prie, Mme de, 36, T97 
Procope, Caf6, 86, 87, 88, 89, 99, 
100, lOI 

Racine, 85 

Raigecourt, Comtesse de, 305 

Rambouillet, Hotel de, 258 

Rameau, loi 

Raynal, Abb6, 28, 366 

R6aumur, 82 

Richelieu, Due de, 29, 30, 33, 34, 
36, 38. 41, 43. 52, 53. 54. 60, 87, 
115, 129, 130, 133, 137, 230, 231, 
232, 241, 280, 283, 299, 313. 366, 
372; portrait, 31; marriage, 53; 
duel with Prince de Lixin, 56 

Richelieu, Duchesse de, 52, 53, 55, 
132, 176, 195, 233, 299 

Roche-sur-Yon, Mile de, 320, 350, 

351 
Rohan, Chevalier de, 107, 198 



Romanet, President de, 262 
Rousseau, J. B., 43, 44. 45- 89, 95, 

96, 99. 154. 197. 199 
Rousseau, J. J., 335 
Rupelmonde, Mme de, 38, 51 



Sade, Abbe, 50 

Sainte-Aulaire, 109 note, 115, 258, 
276, 271, 287, 308 

Sainte-Hyacinthe, Th6miseul de, 91 

Saint-Foix, 99, 100 

Saint-Lambert, Marquis de, 118, 
167, 168, 169, 194, 307. 308, 318, 
322 note, 328, 338, 339. 340. 343» 
344. 345. 347. 348, 349. 35°. 35 L 
362, 364, 368, 373 ; his character, 
329-33; portrait, 331; his poem 
" Les Saisons," 334-5 i his illness, 
337 ; letters to Mme du Chatelet, 
341-2, 352 ; quarrels with Mme 
de Boufflers, 346 ; letters to Mme 
de Boufflers, 352; his coldness, 
353. 358 ; quarrels with Voltaire, 
354 ; and reconciliation, 356 ; 
Mme du Chatelet's letters to, 362, 

364, 366 

Saint-Pierre, Abbe de, 118 

Saint-Pierre, Duchesse de, 44, 45. 
46, 47, 128 

Saint-Simon, 16, 17, 21, 46, 112, 
129, 252, 256, 266 

Saurin, 89, 95, 96, 99, 113 

Saxe, Mar6chal de, 87 

Sceaux, 42, 128, 245, 251, 254, 255, 
257, 261, 263, 266, 270, 271, 272, 
275, 283, 286, 287, 288, 289, 290 

Sechelles, M. de, 207 

Sevigne, Mme de, 85, 108, 137, 247 ; 
her bon mot about coffee, 85 

Solignac, Chevalier de, 304 

Staal, M. de, 267, 271 

Staal, Mme de, 46, 95, 108, 248, 
25s, 262, 263, 264, 265, 266, 267, 
269, 270, 271, 272, 277, 278, 279 
280, 282, 287; describes Mme 



Index 



383 



du Maine, 248-g; Chaulieu's 
verses to, 255 ; her poetry, 262 ; 
her birth, 263 ; her marriage, 267 ; 
in the Bastille, 270 ; Mme du 
Deffand's description of, 272 ; 
portrait, 273 ; describes herself, 
275 ; letters to Mme du Deffand, 
277-83 

Stanislas Leczinski, King of Poland, 
291, 297, 298, 299, 300, 303, 304, 
305, 306, 307, 308, 314, 315, 316, 
317, 318, 319.320, 321, 322, 323, 
325, 326, 327, 328, 339, 347, 349. 
350, 361, 363, 369, 371 ; portrait, 
301 

Suard, Mme, 333 

Sully, Due de, 107 

Sully, Duchesse de, 37 



Tallard, 44 

Talleyrand, Baronne de, 107 

Talmont, Prince de, 306 

Talmont, Princesse de, 125, 304, 

306, 307 
Tencin, Cardinal de, 113 
Tencin, Mme de, 109, no, 11 1, 112, 

113, 114, 115, 116, 117, 118, 231, 

232, 257 
Thianges, Mme de, 352, 363 
Thieriot, 50, 78, 102, 132, 136, 141, 

143, 159, 164, 165, 197, 198, 199, 

200, 201, 202, 203, 204, 205 
Thil, Mile du, 285 
Thomas, 118, 123 
Thorigny, M. Lambert de, 226 
Torcy, Marquis de, 46 
Tressan, Comte de, 125, 310, 316, 

320 
Trichateau, Marquis de, 170, 206, 

207 
Turgot, 71 



Ulrica, Princess, 326 wo/^ 
Uzes, Comtesse d', 262 



Valincourt, 92, 95 

Valliere, Duchesse de la, 125, 344 

Vanloo, Carle, loi 

Vanture, 277, 281 

Vassy, 64 

Vaubrun, Abb6 de, 255, 265, 266 

Villars, Mme de, 38, 106 

Villefort, Chevalier de, 144-6 

Vintimille, Mme de, 120 

Voisenon, 99, 118, 318, 368, 372 

Voltaire, Richelieu's friendship with, 
36, 38, 41 ; portrait, 39 ; charac- 
ter compared with that of Mme 
du Chatelet, 48-9 ; verses to 
Emilie, 51, 52 ; to Mile de Guise, 
53 ; Lettres sur les Anglais, 53 ; 
anxiety regarding, 54 ; memoirs 
quoted, 57 ; at Cirey, 64 ; letters 
to Mme de Champbonin, 65, 67 ; 
his Eloge historique on Emilie's 
" Newton," 70 ; and Mme de 
Sevigne, 85 ; at the Caf6 Pro- 
cope, 103-4 ; his verse to Mme 
Flamarens' muff, 106 ; at Lun6- 
ville, 132; at Cirey, 133; and 
Linant, 135 ; on Mme du Chatelet's 
style, 137 ; and Algarotti, 141, 
143 ; in danger of arrest, 149 ; 
in Brussels, 150, 153 ; at Amster- 
dam, 155 ; corresponds with 
Frederick, 1 57 ; his essay on Fire, 
161, 162, 188 ; arranges his niece's 
marriage, 163 ; his rooms at 
Cirey, 173-4 ; quarrels with 
Emilie, 179, 180 ; his sympathy 
with Mme de Graffigny, 181 ; 
a slave to his pen, 186; accuses 
Mme de Graffigny, 189 ; writes 
Le Presetvatif, 198 ; letters to 
Thieriot, 204 ; his Memoire sur 
la Satire, 205 ; describes Paris 
life, 210; letters to Maupertuis, 
216, 217 ; supervises printing of 
Atiti-Machiavelli, 217; Portrait 
after Alix 221 ; visits Frederick 
the Great, 223, 224, 229 ; his 



3^4 



Index 



indiscreet letter to the King of 
Prussia, 227 ; special mission 
to Berlin, 230-4 ; Princesse de 
Navarre, 235, 236 ; appointed 
Historiographer, 237 ; appoints 
Longchamp his secretary, 244 ; 
at Anet, 278, 279 ; composes 
verses for Duchesse de Maine, 
280; declaims prologue of 
Bou?-soiiffle, 281 ; at Fontaine- 
bleau, 283 ; indiscreet remark at 
Court, 285 ; hides at Sceaux, 
286; ill-health at Luneville, 319, 
327 ; his Memoirs quoted, 321-3 ; 
in a carriage accident, 324 ; out 
of favour with Marie Leczinska, 
325 ; verses on cavagnole, 326 ; 



and Saint-Lambert, 333 ; at Cirey, 
345 ; at Commercy, 349 ; his 
illness at Chalons, 353 ; re- 
proaches Saint Lambert, 354; re- 
pudiates the authorship of Zadig, 
357 ; and Frederick the Great, 
362-3 ; writes letters on the death 
of Mme du Chatelet, 368, 369 ; 
his anguish, 370 ; his letters to 
Mme du Chatelet, 372 ; his last 
tribute to her, 374 



Walpole, Horace, 117, 124, 306, 

308, 315, 316, 334 
Wiltz, Chevalier de, 304, 306 
Wolff, 82, 216 



Printed by Hasell, Watson tSf Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury. 




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